Genesis
by sherryatom
Summary: In the north Alaskan wilderness, a pregnant young runaway crosses the path of a lone hunter. Worlds away, the fate of an embattled clan hangs in the balance. When the end is written in blood, survival isn't only the beginning...it's everything.
1. Star

_Alaska, 105 miles north of the Arctic Circle_

_December 17, 2004_

**X**

It was a lucky find.

Intermittent snowfall over the last four days had buried most of the foraging, but in some places browned scrub poked through the blanket atop. The hare nibbled on these, unfurling limbs now and then to shift awkwardly to an uncropped patch. The winter afternoon was dusky, the sun barely risen over the distant hills which lay sprawled in the arms of a dense haze.

In the wan light the hare was scarce more than an excision from the grey air—yet it was wary. As it grazed it peered at the unfriendly world from bulging eyes. Several yards away a grey shadow flattened against the snow. A chill wind swept in from the west and one of the hare's ears flicked back, listening to it. A split second later it was off, leaping across the snow. Close behind streaked the grey shadow.

The sky looked on without judgment, only rolled on solemnly as skies must do. A sharp-eyed observer would have noted a curious thing: a star was swelling there. A dark pinprick in the suffused glow, visible though it was day. And even stranger- it was moving. But no one saw. Whether by foresight or fortunate accident, the star darted down and beyond the hills. The wolf and hare had no time for stars, intent as they were on their dangerous game, but the star hesitated just above them. The wolf was gaining. One more leap would bring the hare within reach of the slavering jaws...

The star fell. At its back streamed a punishing backlash.

The young wolf drew up short, a growl forming low in his throat. Forgetting the meal disappearing across the snow he arched his head to scent the air with surprise. A torrent of air rushed down, ruffling his coat and he whirled around, paws bunched tight towards his center. The star plummeted down before him, furrowing heavily into the snow and the wolf stood his ground no longer. He shot away, brush tail tucked between his hind legs.

The star continued its awkward slide across the ice, a wall of snow rising around until finally it came to a shuddering stop. Steam rose from its walls; a great heat melted the crust beneath the distended belly until the fallen's feet stood in a shallow, slushed pool of water. Grey the land was, and so was the star. The hare was long gone.

Inside the star, kneeling before a console that stretched the length of the dimly lit room, a bent head shook off the jarring impact of the mangled landing, long lock-like hair flying. The head cocked, breathing deeply without sound and listening intently. Finally, a taloned hand reached up to depress a marked control on the array that was trilling a harsh warning. A finely muscled body, tall and lean, filled the frame of the ship's door; the slab of metal was already rising seamlessly onto the tundra. At once a cold wind whipped in, hideously biting against the star's muggy warmth.

The wind did not drown out the sharp intake of breath and single, astonished exclamation.

"_Pauk..."_

**X**

She was starving.

Dazed and weakened though she was, she understood that. So though the snows were deep and the way was not easy, she didn't stop walking. The winds whipped by as if she was not there and her breath's exhale puffed into vapor on the unforgiving air.

_Keep moving. Food_.

The imperative and need had sprung to mind during some lucid moment and linked themselves together so naturally that she latched on without question: _if you keep moving you'll find food_.

She didn't dare dwell on the possibility that she would not. She was too...too- what? Was it hunger that made her thoughts turn so clumsily like handling a new tool? After so long, many days more than she cared to remember, she'd learned to accept this gnawing, clenching sensation in the pit of her stomach. She blinked dully. A poor existence it was, when one impersonally weighed movement against the caloric advantage of curling back into an unknowing sleep. And hunger was not the only reason why her stomach stirred so...

Her hand sought the rounded swell of her stomach through her thin clothing and alighted on it with numbing fingertips. The troublesome desire to eat had begun to flag just a few days before, and only then had she come as close to fear as she had ever been. When the body no longer desired nourishment, truly it was dying. Death held no mystery for her. She had seen it in all its many beautiful, hideous forms and she was not afraid, but she _was_ afraid. For the sake of the small life warm and growing within her she had to eat—and soon.

But hunger had drained strength, and she floundered knee high in the drift for the third time. She let out a cry of frustration but closed her mouth over the sound an instant later. Frustration, fear, anger_- _none of those could make a difference now. White flakes clung to her dark fall of hair but she was weary and it was such a small thing that she could not find it in her to shake them off.

_Keep moving. Find food_, her mind repeated blankly. And with a twinge of desperation: _any food_.

Far from the west a dark scowl of clouds was creeping in; the contrast against the lightened sky was startling. Underneath the harder crust the snow was light and fine, it crunched under her step. At first she'd glanced at it with small curiosity; she had never seen snow before. Now she no longer noticed. It stretched dizzily without end; a flat, white field near unbroken save for a dark shape that hunched over the horizon. Pausing for the first time she ran her eyes once more around the hazy line that delineated land from sky, then resigned, turned away to thread her steps towards the strange, hunched shape. There was nothing else. She rubbed her hands together, grateful that at least she was well protected against the freeze. Only her face and hands felt its bite. Still she disliked it, this unnatural frigidness that shocked each breath and burned without heat. Never had she imagined it would be so...

The life she'd known- gone. That great loss mourned only by another's somber farewell. Neither would have called the other friend, but he had been young and so was she, and perhaps it was natural that the young ally against their elders. A pain came suddenly, familiar and sickening, and she clutched her stomach fiercely. _No!_ _I've lost so much. I will not lose you... _The needle-like sensation slipped away almost at once, as easily as it had come but memory pricked now, swift and cruel. _Home_. Her brothers and sisters. What had become of them? A shadow crossed her face and she hung her head. Her last glimpse of them- truly her last. Never would she return. She could only eat her heart out, longing for everything she had lost: light, color, a brown land, and the freedom of the warm, open air.

Nothing like this frozen abomination.

**X**

A storm was coming.

Front bared bravely to the cold, back awash in the heat spilling from the doorway, the hunter regarded the colorless air with an assessing eye. Clouds drifted over a radiant sky; a suffused, deceitfully calm brightness that promised trouble later to the unwary. The wind drove a stinging sheet of flakes into his face and he grimaced. The terrain's uniform flatness and many, steady winds made it difficult to approach prey, whose senses were keener than his own. They would be particularly skittish today if they had not already deserted the area to find cover. And haste never made for a good hunt, especially one for food. A bad day for hunting all around. But with plenty of supplies to tide him over for as long as the inclement weather held, he was in no rush. Hunting could wait.

From the east a dim roar of sound echoed and a flock of white birds took to the air, screeching the alarm. The hunter turned his head sharply but the birds circled only briefly before descending unseen to the ground. The land fell silent again and finally he turned away. Whatever it was, it would wait. When the sky glowed like devil-bright eyes, most things could.

The rest of the day would pass quietly indoors but he was content. This really was a singular land. Bleak, cold- he rubbed his fingers together absentmindedly—but still freedom. Such freedom did not come without a price; only fools believed it ever did. He'd been more than willing to pay and it had been a fair trade all around. He hunted when he wanted, as often as he wanted- or not. He consulted no higher order and reaped the spoils of his own wiles. When hunting was good, he waxed full with the bounty of the land, when it was not...he shrugged.

Occasionally, in a reflective moment he wondered at the series of events that had brought him to this state of things. Wondered if like others who had chosen this path, he sought something in this wilderness. A poetic notion. It even made sense; in this land with no trees most things stood out in stark relief. He sighed. What had made him think along those lines? Animals, particularly wild animals, were sensitive to bad weather he knew; it could make them behave in strange, inexplicable ways, although no one really understood why. He smiled, somewhat ruefully now. Perhaps a day like this could make anyone dwell on strange things. No matter who they were.

He craned his neck aside and was rewarded by a harsh pop and the tingling of a pleasantly stretched muscle. Well, he couldn't spend what was left of the day standing out here. The evening and night hours stretched uncounted and idly, he wondered what course the storm would follow. It would be short and brutal, that was certain. The sea had birthed it but to the sea it would never return, dying instead somewhere inland. Still he could think of worse places to be right now, his old ship for one. With a last glance at the grey expanse he turned away, closing the door firmly behind him and extinguishing the heat.

Far across the field of snow a solitary figure pushed on, moving steadily through the restlessly stirring air.


	2. Nature of the Beast

**X**

When the air grew colder and her numbed hands became as ice, she tucked them into the hollows beneath her arms. It helped a little. The winds had not ceased howling; abruptly they changed direction, driving snow around and into her, and not for the first time Ineseu regretted leaving her cloak behind. Of light material its purpose was to stave off spitting sand and preserve cleanliness, not warmth, so she could not have foreseen its usefulness. The flakes spun and arced with the winds' encouragement; where they met mesh, hot white sparked the air and cold spots dotted her skin before warming again.

Her little one was bittersweet company. Once in a while, he or she- Ineseu did not know- planted a swift kick into the walls of her stomach. She was glad of this, glad the small life thrived, but its tiniest movement was a stabbing reminder of her circumstances...and her failure. Oftener there were no kicks and her stomach was still. Then even pain eased its assault and she was glad of this too.

Soon the apices of stunted vegetation straggled into view, the dying and dead stalks a gloomy addition to the bleak landscape. She found the monochromatic landscape disorienting and looked back to the ship; already it was dwarfed with distance. The hills on the other hand yielded not an inch.

She estimated that no more than an hour had passed since she had set forth, but in any case it was not long before she made the welcome discovery. The land was not so barren after all. The winds brought the scents of life astir and muzzles bobbed from the snow, dark eyes peering above, but always they were gone in a flick of scattered flakes before she could sight a clear target. She watched them burrow into the snow, frustrated. They were so small. When an area looked likely she diverted to range for food in that direction, but finding nothing turned back with head bowed before the wind, towards the hunched shape that summoned her as a beacon.

Once a line of several, clawed prints marred the snow and she turned aside to follow the winding trail for several yards. A circle of broken snow and half-frozen shreds of skin and bones were all that remained. She -her shame- fell to her knees to uncover and finish the predator's meal. What little it was. When nothing was left she moved on, trying to ignore the torment of a hunger fanned and unsatisfied.

She came to it almost in a haze, having observed only that the hunched shape was growing in size, appropriating new dimensions to itself. Hard planes appeared through even the reaching shadows- then she was there. She looked on it from a guarded distance, her relief mingling with wariness and disappointment. No wall defined its boundaries, no stela trumpeted victories. She had not known what to expect, but surely there should have been more—something that spoke of a greater significance she hadn't been able to help attaching to it. She saw now how foolishly optimistic she had been.

It was a building, flanked on either side by smaller versions of itself. Squat and ugly, they seemed torn from an uncivilized time, before her kind had set to raising skyscrapers of metal and stone. Nothing about them suggested how they had gotten there or why. Yet for all that they were a stamp of intelligent life on the desolate landscape and she crouched though the action was largely reflex; there was nothing to give cover.

A metallic covering folded over the jutting trusses of the largest building. Where its two halves did not rejoin to peak, the covering lay ridged and flat. The four opaque windows embedded in the facing wall were smaller and cruder than what she knew, but their purpose was unmistakable. This was a dwelling. Drift piled everywhere, but here the snow was scraped away to make a crude path to the low door and her eyes narrowed. Whoever had built this had been here, perhaps not so recently—already the path lay partly under new snow- but she glanced around suspiciously. Was she seen? Were eyes unseen upon her even now? At any moment, surely she would be beset.

She waited. Leaning with an arm propped lightly on one knee, she feigned interest in the buildings that had so disappointed her. Did not betray that inwardly she had tensed. Better that they not suspect she knew...

But the minutes ticked by without incident.

She let her eyes wander the area a second, third time, and still nothing came rushing out in the attack. Gradually, she began to relax. The snow in which she knelt made a surprisingly comfortable cushion. During her time with the females she had skimmed treatises on off-planet worlds out of boredom; none had remarked on the softness of snow. And it would be so easy to remain there, to turn to sleep as she had before...

Ineseu stiffened. Where had that thought come from? That was a mistake befitting an untested Warrior. Not she. And a fool she would be to simply sit and let herself starve, waiting docilely for an enemy that might never come. She took her feet, trying not to sway though the sudden movement made her blood surge strangely.

Feeling uncomfortably exposed, cloaked though she was, she approached and after some thought her hand moved to the gauntlet to command its deactivation. It was a powerful technology but unperfected, prone to shorting entirely when exposed to damp or firepower. Just as inconvenient a consequence was the marked corruption of invisibility after extended periods. A wise Warrior learned not to rely on it for stealth. Whether she was cloaked did not seem to matter anyway. She was alone. The land's disturbing aura of desertion was settled here as well and the only sounds were her own footsteps muffled in the snow. The silence fell uneasy on her because it was an unnatural one; the strange structures were proof of that. Who had built them- and where had they gone?

In circling she found what she would have otherwise missed. Behind the building a wire enclosure rose, some feet high. In the same moment that a musk carried on the air, dry and grimy -something uncurled from beneath the snow...

She pedalled back, wrist already flexing smoothly, exerting pressure enough to spring the blades from their guard. Ready, she watched to see what the snow would reveal.

An animal. Four-legged, lean, and grey. It regarded her briefly then its elongated mouth yawned agape, baring crooked teeth that flashed ivory. _Food_. Ineseu's breath stopped...then came quick and ragged. Its head did not come to knee level- her hunt would need continue- but for all she knew the unlikely looking beast was the largest of possible prey on this world. She should be cautious...wanted to...but her hand was reaching for it before she sucked in an angry breath and drew back, realizing what she had almost done. Bending to the snow she scooped up a handful and threw it against the wire. The animal scrambled away but nothing else happened and Ineseu tapped the wire with a wary nail. She smiled then. A sturdier barrier would not have kept her away and this one was not even electrified. She would feed. At last...

The animal regarded her uncertainly, a sentiment she mirrored when a second emerged, shaking the snow from its fur- then another, and another. The last materialized from a low tunnel at the enclosure's end. She looked at them with surprise. One pushed its muzzle into the wire and sniffed. She brought the blades up in a silent warning and it cocked its head inquisitively at the motion. It whined: the sound was not hostile or fearful and she rumbled, surprised again. The animal did not look capable of defending itself yet it was not afraid. None of them were. A second took a few tentative steps forward, its head and body lowered in submission. A slender chain snaked through the snow behind, pulling taut at full length. She realized then that it was tethered by the neck. The strange-looking animal was domesticated. Or captured.

Ineseu cocked her head. "Smart beast," she observed but frowned, her eagerness dying away and contemplation taking its place. She wanted them. But she was certain now that this was no deserted camp. A single animal she could dispatch, swiftly and silently, but six? It would take the cry of only one to draw their unknown caretaker. Such a battle she was eager to avoid. Its outcome she had no way of foreseeing, underpowered as she was in body and weapon, and unknowing of the enemy she faced. But what other choice did she have?

She moved to scale the head-high barrier, her hands wrapping into the wire for leverage- then a scent came, borne on the wind and faint over the animals' cloying musk, but instantly compelling. Puzzled she paused, struggled to decipher it. When understanding came she whipped her head to the source and drank it in hungrily. Blood. Not fresh, but _meat_. Meat already killed by hands other than her own. Meat that could not betray her with its death cry...

She strode away without a backward glance; the animals tumbled over each other to follow along the enclosure's length. The one tethered curled back into the snow, settling head to foreclaw with a huffing sigh. The scent emanated from a smaller building set on a low, rounded dune fifty feet away. The only way in was a metal door, set within a recess and secured to the frame by forged bits of metal. She studied the obstacle briefly, then with a swift downward slash of blade, severed frame and metal. The door's snub handle resisted her efforts and she took that off as well.

A hard kick opened the door inwards and she stepped through, surveying the single dark room warily. Three tiers of shelving ran around the crude walls, set with bottles and sealed jars, but she had no eyes for these, her attention locked onto strips of meat suspended mid-air on thick hooks from a ceiling she could not see. The meat was frozen solid, but at the sight the last vestiges of her control vanished. This close, she smelled traces of a slight chemical odor. A flavoring or preservative perhaps; no one in their right mind would poison their own food. The smell was not exactly pleasant, but neither was it disagreeable.

She had borne much, Ineseu thought breathing hard; she could bear this as well. Already her hands were moving to her face, removing the mask that permitted her to breathe the noxious air. It was the last thing remaining between her and this small mercy.

She fell upon the meat.

**X**

The house was still, the level calm undisturbed by the soft dripping of perking coffee and low hum of the fridge. The other appliances slept, unplugged to shield against lightning strike. The weakened sun poured its light through the den windows, the only ones not yet shuttered.

Stretched out on the too-short couch, Michael Whisler shifted without noticing that he was uncomfortable; his attention focused on the screen perched precariously on his stomach. His face lighted in the machine's artificial glow, his brow pinched in concentration. Only when the percolator's distinctive spurting ceased and the silence increased twofold did he finally drag his eyes away. Setting the laptop down he padded across the section of the lower level that functioned as a living area. In the darkened kitchen he flicked on the light over the stove and set the ancient coffee maker aside.

It was too late for caffeine, already past four in the afternoon. But that significance blurred in the face of a compromised circadian rhythm. Perpetual twilight made it easy to pass most of the day hours in drowsing sleep—which in fact he had the day before. With one hand Michael poured himself a mug; with the other he scribbled a note to himself to add coffee to the rotation of supplies he picked up on quarterly trips into town. He moved back to the couch, blowing perfunctorily on the hot liquid and his face twisted into a grimace with the first sip. The brew was stale and bitter; he found it difficult to keep coffee fresh. There was no one but himself to drink it, and some inevitably turned rancid before he could go through the formidable quantities he felt obliged to buy to make it worth his time and gas. Vaguely he thought about scratching the addition off but shrugged after a moment. He liked his coffee.

Setting the mug down he turned back to the aerial map depicted in spider fine detail on the NOAA site. The agency's projection was that the storm would sweep in from the Bering Sea sometime around five, battering the coastal communities as it worked its way inland: Kotzebue -at a few thousand residents the largest town for several miles- then many of the smaller villages scattered to the north and east, including Noatak, the nearest village of any size. It would not be too long after that before the storm crossed the thirty-five miles from Noatak and headed his way.

Mentally he skimmed through the preparations he'd made. They weren't many. This was the bush, and even on a good winter's day he kept the house stocked and battened down. Wrapped cuts of hare, ptarmigan, ground squirrel and sealed bags of fruit and vegetables crammed the top freezer. Most of the last migrating caribou had been tucked into the garage's stand-alone deep freezer since October. The remainder took space in the smokehouse because there was nowhere else to put it. The computer suddenly kicked into hibernation, plunging the room into grey shadows and Michael caught a glimpse of his reflection in the abruptly blank screen. He raked his fingers through his hair. He was overdue for a haircut; he'd have to squeeze one in somewhere among his January errands or cut it himself somehow.

Bringing the dogs in to hunker down was the only thing left to do, and was the one task to which he was least looking forward. They hated being inside. He wasn't too fond of the idea either. When a January ice storm had been bad enough to bring them in, they'd damn near sent him up the wall; clawing at the door, chewing whatever they could lay teeth on, shedding in prodigious amounts everywhere, and peeing and shitting indiscriminately- all the while howling miserably as if someone had died.

But, Michael thought, in a way something had. Friendly as the six huskies were they were working dogs, bred and raised to run. They'd lived all their lives outdoors. To be so unexpectedly confined must have been as a slow suffocation.

So despite the oaths he'd hurled at them throughout those two peaceless days and nights, he had sympathized.

What would he possibly have done with a life that mandated nine to five and bed at twelve?

**X**

How long had she starved, that eating could move her so strongly? How long? Ineseu tore away another sliver of the meat clenched in her hands. Her teeth met bone and after stripping it clean she tossed it away. The meat went down as a hardened lump in her throat but her eyes slitted in the warm trance of feeding; in the darkened room it made no difference.

Raging in the empty ship that had become a prison, she had recalled this pleasure with a clarity that ached. Tortured, she had relived a once feast- a great hall of tables, heavy with the weight of good things to eat. All washed down with good, strong drink that left her heady. Or had it been the lingering pride of a first Kill? That had been a great day, one to celebrate. That had also been a long time ago.

Frozen and unpalatable as the flesh was, it was better than even that fond memory because it was _now_. Raw meat was not her preference but under the circumstances it was a more than acceptable alternative. Eating it so would not sicken her -a hardy digestive system saw to that. But the single meal, gluttonous as it was, was not enough. She needed more, Ineseu thought. More of everything. More food. More time...The enormity of her need was staggering and she forced another mouthful down, though her stomach queasily protested the fullness. She did not know when she would eat this well again. Or at all. Well, time enough later to ponder the future, and what had gone wrong. To find blame where it belonged if she wished. Even if it lay with her.

How she had suffered -she who had never known hunger could be so merciless.

**X**

The dogs listened to the movements of the tall...human?...ears pricking higher with each sound.

Loyal to the trail, they knew the land as their own but staked claim on no part. So the thought of hindering its way had never entered their minds. They too loved freedom. It was none of their concern that its scent was as wild as theirs...

But their large leader -he of the white coat and blue eyes- was perplexed. He had been Good all day. He had not even tried to dig out to explore his kingdom, which he vaguely remembered being told was the reason he had been tied up. Yet he had been passed by without even a friendly word of acknowledgment.

He sniffed the ground to soothe his wounded feelings. When he could no longer bear being ignored he lifted muzzle and yowled, reminding all within the sound of his voice that he was there.

Catching on to the new game at once, his teammates joined in.

**X**

Receipts...bills...

Michael rifled through the haphazard stack of papers, pausing over a creased yellow slip though he was reasonably sure it wasn't what he was looking for. He unfolded it anyway. It wasn't. What it was turned out to be a receipt for the oil delivery he'd received a couple of weeks before. Just over sixteen hundred dollars for 250 gallons. He flinched although, really, he hadn't forgotten and knew better anyway. It would last the winter and a short time into spring but seeing the figure on paper all at once was a shock. Solar tiling—expensive to install but cheaper in the long run- supplied much of the house's energy during the summer months, but when summer passed into the cooler fall months and the hours of full daylight narrowed to as few as five, output understandably dipped. At full capacity the battery bank was good for ten days, but two generators made sure of it: an Arctic winter without heat was a miserable death sentence. The matter of riding it out was a predictable, cyclical crisis. Each year, families in the several nearby towns felt its pinch on their pockets-and hard.

Money was not something Michael lacked. Putting it that way sounded crass, he thought frowning, but there it was. He never bothered to tell himself he didn't deserve it. The fact was no one, sainted or damned, deserved money so tainted. There were worse things to feel guilty about anyway.

But still he had not been able to help feeling inexplicably melancholy the day he ran into town, and watched a woman bite her lip before a grocery shelf before sighing and moving away. On a whim he'd offered to buy the peanut butter for the kid -it was only eight bucks. He'd regretted the impulse instantly, sure that she would take offense. Startled, but she'd smiled at him nicely enough with a quick glance at the toddler in her shopping cart despite herself -he could not help but see that fleeting glance. Her wistful expression had stayed with him on the long ride home.

He had still not found the elusive invoice when the silence was broken by a single, undulating howl. After a beat, it was joined in discordant union by five more. Michael bared his own teeth in a grimace and tried to ignore it but failed. Swearing he slapped the papers down and went to the back door. His first impulse was to attribute the dogs' unrest to an animal prowling nearby except oddly, they didn't sound distressed -only demanding.

He'd had good reason to indelibly learn the difference the previous summer, after what he thought of as the "grizzly incident". The half-ton bear had wandered near the house and after sniffing the dogs' pen for ten minutes hadn't made up its mind to leave, its attention fixated on the worried animals. When the bear eventually began to shake and pull at the wire Michael had taken quick aim from the garage window where he'd been watching. The bear took three shots to the chest and flank from the 12-gauge before going down. He had cautiously approached and looked at the huge carcass with wonder and pride. It had been his first bear.

He twisted his wrist now to check the time. Just a little after five. Well, he'd put off the hated task as long as he could. In the hallway he added a heavy parka to his blue sweater and running pants, and pulled on snow boots over his socked feet, all the while keeping an ear out for the dogs. Better that they stop on their own accord before he went to them; he didn't want to inadvertently teach them to howl when they wanted attention. His forehead creased. Why they demanded it now was a mystery. They'd already eaten their one meal earlier that day and had long learned to be content with their own company when he wasn't around.

He moved into the kitchen and cracked open the shutters to look onto the enclosure. Only a silent, gray world met his eyes. The dogs were clustered near the south wall, unusual, but the yard was empty. Nothing. As he'd thought. Still, from habit so engrained he no longer needed try to remember, he grabbed the rifle propped by the door. The bush was equal parts wild and beautiful, and a firearm on hand had saved the life of more than one dweller before. In this land where wild creatures reigned as they had for thousands of years, it was a simple truth that one could be mauled in one's own backyard—the grizzly was proof of that old bush claim. If he hadn't learned that truth over the last three years then he'd learned nothing at all.

_Three years..._

Three years since he'd been first shown around the house by the eager realtor while its then owner -a retired chemical engineer of all things- looked on with barely a word. Stooped by the years but still wiry, Stephen Greene had looked askance at the tall blond outsider who'd seen his listing and chartered a plane out to have a look before anyone else did. Another bewitched transplant no doubt, with starry dreams of conquering the bush.

But Michael had asked the right questions, struck the right balance between independence and deference to the answers, and Greene's skepticism had faded enough for his conscience to let him make the sale. He hadn't wearied of the hardy life, Greene (call me Steve) explained. Who could? But sadly he was too old. After eleven years of the bush he was returning to civilization to finish retirement in relative comfort with his son and daughter-in-law in Anchorage. The house itself was splendidly outfitted; solar panel tiling, two generators, indoor plumbing and sunk well, a sizeable greenhouse -and satellite hookup.

_A rich man's simplicity_ had been Michael's uncharitable thought when he first saw the plain two-story and thirty-three acres for himself. But he too wanted its reassuring solidness—and isolation. Steve drove a stiff bargain for the house but asked no price for the dogs. He could have adopted them separately into town families he said, but wanted them to remain together as the team that they were -to live the lives they were meant to have. Growing more emotional by degrees, Steve praised the dogs' stamina, intelligence and speed on the trail. And unnerved by the dampening eyes of a man old enough to be his father Michael had hastily agreed.

That May the ice on the frozen Sound broke up, and a barge anchoring in the Kotzebue harbor brought with it the snowmachine Michael had ordered three weeks before. It came to the house towed behind one of the loudest ATVs he had ever heard.

Though Michael had not really wanted them, the dogs came in genuine use during summer and fall months for hauling back the occasional large game. More often than not he harnessed them up simply to give them exercise, and for the secret pleasure of watching them run in the traces as the land rushed by.

He went to bring the dogs inside.

**X**

_A/N: Ok, I glitched somewhere. I'll leave off the author's note until I figure out what I did._

_Edit: So- after some months I present the gist of the note I originally intended, which was to acknowledge the inadvertent assistance of authoress **syverasazyn** in navigating a tricky (for me) point. Her Jack -the stalwart canine companion of Lex- helped inspire my 'guess' of what might go through the head of a dog making the acquaintance of the alien, humanoid kind. _

_Also didn't hurt that I found out huskies are notorious for making poor watch dogs..._

_And! I discovered post chapt-posting, that 'Nature of the Beast' is the title of a 1995 thriller starring...(drumroll) Lance Henriksen! Kismet!_


	3. Phantom

_**A/N: **__Sorry about multiple alerts last time. I have a bad habit of keeping chapters in miscellaneous places and uploaded a rough draft by mistake (twice) and had to delete and try again. Had brilliant, lovely author's notes (cough) too. _

_My overdue thanks to __**Solain Rhyo**__ who read the rough drafts of these three chapters and encouraged me to keep going. _

_I personally prefer not to receive plot warnings, but it's occurred to me not everyone might feel the same way so __fair warning__: xenomorphs take a backseat in this fic. Not even sure they'll get more than a passing reference. A good part of this fic will center on a yautja clan. Miscellaneous characters will get knocked up and/or fall in love/have sex along the way but I hesitate to label this fic a romance, since it's not the spirit in which I find myself writing it. _

**.X.**

The animalswere restless. Ineseu could hear them shuffling through the snow, pausing now and then to deeply inhale the air, scenting her. She paused in turn to listen. The strange noises they made were soft, still only curious; no reason for alarm, and the meat scent filled her nostrils so she thought of them no more.

The meat gone, she stooped for her mask and surveyed the damage; bones and gristle scattered on the floor, fragments of ceiling she'd inadvertently ripped down in the frenzy of feeding. It was time to go. Her trespass was regrettable but she had had to eat. This way at least had spared her the deeper disgrace of scavenging. _Disgrace! It would go better for me if I no longer cared! _her mind cried.

Night would come soon, if she judged the planet's rotational cycle correctly, which-Ineseu frowned at the glowing corner of sky-she had no way of knowing if she had. Everything about this land was wrong: its unflinching coldness, darkness, and desolation. Abomination she had named it. She wondered how close this lay to the truth. Was it an aberration fit only for outcasts and exiles? But at the core of an aberration is the pure standard it blasphemes, and to Ineseu it was an encouraging thought; another land elsewhere might prove another, better chance. Meanwhile only the cheerless ship waited miles away, and to it there seemed no choice now but to return. Once she would have preferred to never see it again, but now at least it represented something familiar, and how queer that thought was when she remembered the vessel's origin.

Intent on her thoughts, Ineseu had grown very still. As if rousing from a dream she became dimly aware that something was different outside. She cocked her head and listened. Gone were the animal's soft cries; they were howling, on and on as if they lived for the melancholy sound pouring from their throats. Ineseu went swiftly to the open door, angry for their outcry and angry that she had thought to avert it. How long had they called while she was adrift in her thoughts? She peered around the door and drew back almost as immediately. Too late. Too late to slip away. For here came the sound of footfalls-self-assured and unafraid. Her caution and restraint—for nothing!

Without looking at the panel affixed to her arm Ineseu jabbed a brief command and melted into the air. From within the cocoon of refracted light she watched a new light illuminate the snow. A figure emerged from the depths of the large alien building. Swaddled though it was from chin to toe, the creature's physiology was an uncanny imitation of her own—two arms and two legs, bipedal.

A human! Ineseu stared, unable to believe her eyes.

The Hunters' prized prey, the one they called the ultimate _pyode amedha. _It could only be that making its way across the snow, its striding gait unhurried and unmeasured. She had never seen one before but no other of the universe's creatures was capable of such a trickery of the eye. Was this the human planet then? It must be, though nothing like the lush jungle she had long heard it described. The humans were a young race, with a nascent technology; they had not yet found their way from their ball of earth to colonize the stars, though perhaps even that information was wrong as well.

A head shorter than herself, the human was a warrior or hunter—a burner of some type peeked from behind its back-and she stiffened in recognition.

In that moment it occurred to Ineseu that snatched opportunities like these were all that was left to her; she would never Kill alongside her Clan again. The longing for the old blood thrill pressed on her, and flitting behind it a new one: to hunt as the Hunters did. Facts, trite and material, strung themselves readily along her plane of thought and unconsciously she clicked softly as she fit them together. She was in the human's territory. That alone merited caution. By reputation humans were clever fighters, but physically weaker and handicapped by their natural senses. Their sense of smell was poor; their vision as susceptible to deception as her own. Perhaps more so, because they did not readily use technological enhancements as yautja did.

The longingswelled, her fingers twitched in anticipation. But she remembered the pup growing in her belly and her blood lust ebbed and receded as if it had never been. She did not deserve its small, precious presence if she wasted it on an unneeded battle. She would watch and see. And hope the human left.

A confrontation could be avoided, the meat house was not set before the building or the animal's enclosure, but many yards away and the human had not yet glanced across. She had left the door slightly ajar, disliking to shut off the only exit in an unfamiliar place. She would not chance drawing the human's attention by closing it now. Her tracks were gone; the wind had whisked them away and that was good. But if the human did look it would see. The violateddoor, standing open. It would see and know.

The human fumbled before the enclosure and one of the animals appeared at its feet. The human bent, but straightened a few moments after; its hand sweeping repeatedly over its head. The gesture was alien, the meaning unfathomable. Ineseu watched uneasily as both human and animal suddenly darted forward, then pulled up short. What were they doing?

They were closer. The human stood silently. Looking? Then it started; the quick twitch of one startled.

Ineseu gritted her teeth in frustration. _Leave. By the gods, just leave. I have no wish to fight you now. _

The human babbled. Its hand rose—and slid to the burner.

She'd seen enough. The familiar cry rising in her throat, Ineseu abandoned stealth. She went to the human, blades extended for the kill.

**.X.**

Ruby greeted him first, small body quivering with excitement and dusted with snow. He cracked the gate open just enough to let her slip out and the other dogs complained bitterly. The sable and white husky offered him a friendly yelp and stood on her hind legs to have her ears scratched. Michael grabbed her nose and pushed her back down with a stern word. Unperturbed she tried to nudge past his legs, her nose pointed with keen interest beyond the kennels.

Michael turned to look but saw only the dark outlines of the smokehouse and bungalow-style shed. He found himself in the path of a wind; his hair whipped into his eyes and he reached up to brush the strands away. He blinked past them to the sky beyond, that curious, lonely light in the winter dark.

"Come on, girl." New snow would trail this hard wind in stinging sheets. It would soon be too unpleasant to go outside and he wanted the dogs all in before then. Ruby first, then Chukchi the headstrong white Siberian; a firm hand on each to curb the husky instinct to run and never stop.

He leaned down to grab the husky's collar; she yelped and wriggled away but he was right behind her and she quietened when he slipped on the lead. Her bid for freedom had brought them closer to the smokehouse. Michael glanced up at it idly, and stiffened without immediately knowing why. There was something wrong and he straightened to squint through the wind. It took him a few moments to figure out what it was. The door was cracked open. The locked and chained door. Had the dog not been so troublesome he would never have seen. There was a sudden, blurred impression of movement and he jumped. What the-? It was still there.

Not an animal. Not a bear, not a wolf. Upright. Backing hastily into the shadows as a person would do.

He grasped for the rifle and braced it before him, but did not cock it, not yet. Uneasily, he edged forward. "Come out! I've already seen you!" he shouted. There was no reply, only an unhappy whine from Ruby and Michael felt foolish. He frowned over the sights. There was no explaining why the door was suddenly, mysteriously ajar; he might have only imagined what he'd seen otherwise. But who? And why? He would almost have preferred another errant grizzly, Michael thought. The possibility of a human trespasser just raised too many questions. A personwho broke into a smokehouse was desperate, for food or shelter.

Michael's brow knitted in reluctant concern and after a moment's hesitation he lowered the rifle and take a cautious step forward. "Look...whoever you are, I don't care what you've stolen," he called. The wind fell away abruptly, his voice sounded jarringly loud. "There's a bad storm on the way. If you need help I can-"

And then in a breath's space the world turned upside down and every law of physics stood on its head. Michael's eyes widened. His mouth shut and opened again but the words would not come. Whatever he had meant to say was vanished, gone forever. Heralded by a ferocious snarl, the air distorted violently. Seen through it the packed snow swirled in a riotous, uninhibited dance.

Michael swallowed, found his voice again. "_Shit..._"

-a silvered outline of head, torso and limbs, moving to him with fine deliberation.

"No, not possible," he mumbled. His eyes went from the ground to the top of the shimmering head, but there was still no sense to be made of the whole thing and he flushed. His hands were shaking; he clenched them lead heavy around the grip.

A nightmare. _His _nightmare. Michael shook his head furiously, as if denial could dispel the apparition.

He was losing his mind. Finally.

"No…you're not real! Oh _God_..." He was pleading; the raw panic in his voice repulsed and shamed him. Something long erupted from the silver with a metallic _schnick, _even unseen it was disturbing, and without thinking he squeezed the trigger. And squeezed again. He felt the rifle's cold stock under his hands, heard the two shots crack the air. But white sparked where the shots had flown true and the silver didn't even pause so how could this be anything but a dream? He emptied the chamber mechanically, backing away, mind gone blank with horror, until the trigger clicked uselessly. His finger hovered a moment longer then slid away; his fight departed with it. The silver was coming. Body rigid, he waited mutely for it. The dogs were howling even harder than they had before, thrilled by the familiar sound of gunfire.

The shimmering apparition filled his view; it was close, he didn't realize how close until the gun shuddered minutely and the barrel flew away. He shrank, but couldn't tear his eyes away. Its spinning descent to the snow nagged at him, as did the footprints, heavy in the drift littered with spent bullets. Then everything fell into place and he knew. Disbelieving, his eyes swung to the silver. As if seeing it for the first time, he absorbed the coiled tension, upper limb held away as if to strike, shimmering protrusions upraised. The low, unpleasant rattling was as true an advertisement of danger as a wolf's crouch and Michael blinked.

"Son of a bitch," he whispered. And ran.

Real. _Real_. Whatever this thing was that had inexplicably formed itself from thin air, making sounds that never could come from a human throat, it was _real_. The proof lay in the snow fast disappearing behind him.

And he had stood there and almost let himself be killed.

He slowed to hurl the empty rifle away, not waiting to see what it met before ducking into the house and ramming in the deadbolt. He stumbled into the darkened hallway, past the kitchen to the study. Chair, stand, anything in the way overturned. A pile of books on the floor tripped him up; he kicked them away and kept on.

He heard the hammering crash of the kitchen door giving way, and knew the-the _thing_-was inside. The outdoor chill, his adrenaline-laden fear, the suddenly overpowering heat of the house; they all swarmed together and he felt sick. He was sweating under the parka; the moisture beaded, trickled, and as he pelted on, gushed into rivers. His breathing was harsh and ragged but the silver had fallen deadly silent.

At the study Michael sprinted left to the den, and running too fast to stop in time, slammed into the oak rack. In the seconds it took to regain his balance, his fingers scrabbling against the paneled doors to open them, something whistled by his head, so close his hair lifted in its wake, and buried itself into the fireplace's rubble stone.

He spun around, but there was nothing there-and then suddenly there was. Twin disks shedding silvery layers like a skin. Both no wider than a hand's span, but their serrated edges quivered with sinister intent, and Michael's mouth went dry. What the _fuck _was going on? He shot an agonized glance behind him and dug. Even the more powerful .458 Mag was of dubious worth against a target that seemed to repel bullets like flicked pieces of paper, but it was all he had. All he could do.

He found the rifle just as a hard hand yanked him around, and steel fingers clamped onto his throat. The floor fell away, and he punched the hands that held him aloft, the rifle skidding away. His windpipe was collapsing; he couldn't _breathe_! Choking on the effort to suck in air, he clawed futilely at the invisible hands. He kicked out, the leg seized in immediate agony. If he'd kicked a brick wall he couldn't have punished it more and his throat worked in vain to force out a groan. A strangled gasp was all that came out.

He couldn't stay conscious much longer. Desperate, Michael took a swing at the air shivering before his face. The blow was not hard nor well-aimed; he had to reach above the mass of those solid arms, but he was immediately gratified by the humbling sensation of being flung across the room.

He met the wall hard, slamming spine-length against it. He slid to the ground, air coming finally, clinging to the wall and wheezing in great gasps of it. He hurt all over; his body throbbed with a single, unified pain, but his brain flooded with an odd euphoria. No phantom this, but flesh and blood. There was no doubt about it now. His fist had unmistakably met with a bare forehead, and somehow he had hurt it.

If he could get a bullet through it perhaps he'd even live...

Michael risked a glance away from the silver snarling nastily a few feet away and found the rifle lying partly below the glass top table. The table was low and when the cadence of snarling deepened, he dove. His fingers brushed the stock and he clutched it to him as a drowning man clutches at air: desperately, with faint hope. He rolled onto his back, sights raised high.

The silver was gone.

Exhaling, he took his feet and swore as he leveled the weapon around, squinting to find a telltale movement. The lamp lay on the floor, knocked over in the struggle. The shadow it threw quavered. He turned and a heavy weight slammed down to yank the rifle-not away but up-barrel tilted harmlessly to the ceiling.

Michael stared dumbly at the rifle, frozen in the unexpected shock. He should let go, but couldn't…..didn't. The gun flowed through and under the invisible fingers as if through water, and he stared at it in terrible fascination. Unexpectedly, the silver's heavy grip loosened. He knew a moment's wonder before the rifle dipped and the butt punched back, _hard_ into his stomach. He doubled over in agony, but the worst was the rifle sliding smoothly away. Michael stretched for it but it was gone. Then the barrel's cold rim prodded under his chin and there was nothing to do but straighten slowly. It shifted to track his movement and the silver edges rippled. _Surreal_, Michael thought, and his chest ached from a thousand emotions uncurling. Held at gunpoint by the air. He could struggle, run again but why? Where could he go? Whatever he did—it would be of no use at all and his jaw tightened painfully with the knowledge.

_So this is it. This is how I die. Looking into the eyes of nothing_. Suddenly, irrationally, he resented the impersonal anonymity of it all. To be killed, as ignorant as the hares that trembled in his snares, not knowing why, or by what was unspeakably unfair. He wanted to know. He deserved-

"Why?" he asked bitterly. He got no answer, only a low snort into his face broke the silence. The gentleness of the breath was ominous and he snatched his head away. The barrel followed to nudge almost playfully. He shuddered, then hot anger seeped over his cold fear, feeding from it and surging forward in a powerful rush.

Michael whipped his head back to glare at the silver's hulking form. "Fuck you, you son of a bitch!"

The silver head tilted.

The impact of the rifle slamming into his jaw sent his head snapping back. Michael heard a sickening crack then he was falling-back, no forward, because here he was on his hands and knees. His head swam; the pain was excruciating, surely something was broken, then even pain was sucked away as the room began to recede. He looked up through clouding eyes; it was over. No more. No more reason to hate the demon.

But something was happening. His fogged mind couldn't grasp the change at first. Something-emerging from the silver. Bending over him. Solid and unmistakably there.

The darkness rose up and swallowed him whole.

**.X.**

Ineseu straightened and toed the human cautiously. It lived. The rhythm of its breathing slow but steady. In truth she hadn't meant to lay it to the floor. Rising irritation had driven that pointless blow and she had watched astonished as it keeled over, an angry discoloration spreading rapidly across its jaw. Humans were weaker than she expected. She rubbed a hand over her own face, trying to rid herself of the uncomfortable sensation that still prickled there. Never had she liked her head to be touched. And the human had landed a blow there no less. She winced. Truly she was growing slow. Everything else aside, pregnancy was the unexpected betrayal. It profaned the order of things: to wane so in her prime when until now she had only grown faster and stronger every day of her life.

She crossed to the adjacent wall and yanked the compact blades out. Her tusks lifted in disgust. It was much warmer in the human building, but the light was as poor as it was outside. Without the artificial aid of a thermal vision her aim had been off. Hard used by its first owner, some of her mask's sensitive wiring was already crushed when she found it. Even the visor's natural sight was dead; she'd been forced to dissever it to see and breathe at the same time. She'd at least made sure that the dissection was clean. It was possible that she could make the mask whole again and recover some of the lost functions, but it would take the right tools and some time. She slipped the blades back into her gauntlet and they set automatically with a slight click. The human would never know how close it had come to a most efficient decapitation.

Speaking of which.

She turned and used her foot to edge the human onto its back. She noted its statistics reflexively: small cranium, fleshy mouth and protuberance on a pale face. Pale wisps of hair. The eyes widened in fear were shut now. The drab clothing was mismatched, the padding heaviest around the upper torso. Below this, another layer of clothing peeked. Ineseu rumbled quietly, her curiosity was an indulgence she knew. Perhaps the time for indulgences was long past. When had a Warrior ever needed know the ways of the _pyode amedha_?

The Hunters studied the _pyode amedha _carefully before even selecting the ones they would take as trophies. She had not understood why until today. The human had taken her by surprise. It had appeared to give up after a brief resistance then lured her into its dwelling—scrambling without grace like one beaten—but once inside had lunged for another weapon, to her reluctant approval; it was not seeming for a warrior of any species to give up so easily. Its second struggle had been spirited, irksome though it was. Ineseu allowed herself a small smile, remembering. She moved around the human's body, avoiding its arm, and picked up the burner it had fought so hard to keep. She looked it over then let it drop. A crude weapon; a youngling could make one better.

She turned back to the human, at a loss for what to do with it. No yautja, but the human had put up a fair fight. Ordinary protocol demanded that she complete the kill already begun and claim her trophy. It would be its head, Ineseu thought. Its weapon wasn't worth keeping. _And what then? _Ineseu looked around: at the furniture, at the several, unexplainable implements with which sentient beings create comfort. It was apparent the human lived here; this was no temporary scout's camp as she had mused. And the dwelling's size and isolation made it plain enough that the human did so alone. Abandoned or chased from its clan, who knew. Otherwise its clan mates would have surely have come to its aid by now. Or, Ineseu wondered uneasily, had the human already summoned them somehow?

Her eyes went warily to the sprawled form, her gaze flicked up to the head-for one instant curiosity piqued and she imagined its symmetric beauty bare of skin and flesh-then was arrested by that fine, pale hair. Its color was the gold sands surrounding the ore mines she knew so well. Part natural deposit, part desiccated by-product of the refining process, the sands were the nesting grounds of the _ta'yli_; a common rodent infamous for secreting away caches of seed and grain in hidden, underground burrows. Once, millenia ago their presence had compromised harvests, but their numbers had long ago been brought under control, the problem largely eradicated.

Ineseu tilted her head, lost in thought, and her thoughts were for the human.

Smaller, weaker, vulnerable-but it lived alone in this vast wasteland of ice. There was a secret to surviving this inhospitable land, there always was. Didn't her own clan flourish in an arid desert where a jungle Hunter would grow gaunt? She had consumed the human's store of meat but it would have another, hidden or buried somewhere. And know how to find more.

Still.

Learn...from a human? It wounded her pride to admit that she might need it, but there was no gentler way to put it, and why should she disguise the truth from herself? Ineseu's throat constricted. How well had pride served her lately?

Use the human. An ambitious idea. With a glaring flaw. She neither spoke nor understood its babbling language. Yet it seemed somehow she must find a way to force its cooperation. And if she permitted the human to live, if she chose badly, would she be ambushed later by its clan swarming over her, over the ship? It was one thing to fight a single human; it would be another to face a clan of them and their burners.

Ineseu decided abruptly. She crouched at the human's side, judged angle and force, and smashed her fist into its face. Its head rolled away before resettling and she grunted, satisfied that it would continue to sleep. "Now we are even," she couldn't resist muttering to the still form. She stood, feeling strangely better than she had in a long time. With the gods' favor she might yet claim the right they had denied her; she would live to birth and raise her pup.

Ineseu quelled a stab of regret. In Keraal her pup would have wanted for nothing, and the bitter knowledge only hardened her resolve. She waged a single battle for two lives now, one she would win. At all costs. She might even be given to eating the human, Ineseu thought smiling grimly, only half in jest; starvation's withered face was still too near for her liking.

To eat human flesh, to eat a trophy prey, was to breach-unforgiveably-the High Laws of the Hunters. That was well. But if she was less than deferent, that was to be expected. The Hunters' laws were not hers. She, Ineseu. Born of the last remaining enclaves of warriors that venerated yautja as the good Kill; god-created and god-favored. The only trophy that could truly bring honor.

The Warriors' laws, or rather Keraal's since no central power governed the separate warrior clans, forbade the consumption of sapient life. There were no specific proscription about humans; one would have been superfluous since few Warriors ever traveled outside the homeworld. The rare times they did was usually at the behest of a hunting clan with an outlaw- _Bad_ _Blood-_problem that had grown out of control. Once in a while this required travel to the human planet which otherwise had little in the way of resources to recommend it. In a warrior culture that had no use for them, humans were little esteemed; scarce more than near-mythical figureheads of hunt tales related by Hunters with legitimate business in clan territory. And one never knew how much to believe of what fell from the mouths of those braggarts.

Ineseu tilted her head. Still.

Hearing the familiar cries of the animals, she retraced the way outside. She had not crossed the open entry when she heard a muffled sound nearby. She whirled to find one of the human's animals nosing through the trampled drift. Yes, Ineseu remembered. The human had set it free. The animal lifted its head, tail beating its sides when it saw her. She retracted her blades and growled at it without real irritation. It slunk away to press against the wire that penned its mates, and Ineseu looked on them with a covetous eye. She could take them with impunity, and feed at will. But that would wait, there were other matters to deal with.

After circling the dwelling, once, twice, and confirming that she was indeed, alone, she returned to the human. It lay sprawled as she had left it, face pressed into the floor. Ineseu grasped the smooth face and lifted it to her inspection, grazing a thumb briefly across its forehead. A sapient intelligence slumbered beneath; there was no question about that. Shi'nak'de had told truth. Ineseu's eyes hardened, her face became stone. Suddenly she felt old beyond her years.

_Shi'nak'de. _The Hunter she had thought her friend.

Spotting a long, thin blackcord, Ineseu ripped it away from the wall. She lashed the human's hands together, and stooped over her swollen stomach to truss its legs as well. Her thoughts raced as she worked. For better or worse she had made her choice. How right it was that she would break several of the Hunters' laws by it...

Her hands stilled. Her eyes looked into the room, searching past it. Gossamer veils whispered over what she sought, but stubbornly she lifted them. Time sighed and skipped back.

She was back. The Council. Their disdain for the Warriors' sigil; it rolled off in waves as much as they tried to disguise it. Their greyed heads tilted in contemplation as they spoke gravely of justice, but the musk of their unease filled the great hall, oily and pungent. That was not so easily concealed.

Then the damning pronouncement.

The pain of her curled fingers digging into her skin recalled her to the present and Ineseu winced, remembering her greater pain. It was scarcely dulled by the passage of time. But even a dull blade gives hurt when pressed to a beating heart. She glanced down at the drowsing human and clicked wearily at the irony. She wasn't so beaten that she could not laugh, even if only to mock herself.

Only Bad Bloods ate humans. But-wasn't that precisely what the Hunters had declared her?

8


	4. The Bright Ones

Please note the change in date. In other words...flashback! Longer note follows.

**.X.**

_Day 53, Year 41,297 of the Bl'ifre Dynasty-Territory of the Keraal Clan_

_(February 3, 2003-Alaska) _

The Warriors were returning. The evergreen grasses bobbed in their wake, tips streaming gold; dawn was breaking. On they came-a dark phalanx moving across the dark plateau. They came to the lip of the clay-colored gorge and swept over. The windsent a shower of rocks pelting down the chasm; the flyers purred contentedly on the ascent. Now and then a dark claw reached down to pat a gleaming chassis with the fondness due a steadfast friend. They had been moving silently over the wild lands through the night.

They were twenty-six. They had been thirty, but Le'kdi, Ajedan, Pe'dand and Ka'nnde had fallen in the blood clash with the Gaechdt clan. A heavy blow, but that they had lost only four of their number spoke well of the victory. The wind jostled the crude biers, but they were tightly lashed and the warriors turned southward. They had travelled far. Since setting on that long way they had remained wary, and for good reason. It would not be long before the Gaechdtans sniffed out their warriors' fate and sent a fresh wave in pursuit. Were they pursued they would turn and fight-but much better that they were not. All knew this. Their leader Be'hsira, perhaps most of all.

Spear-straight, Behsira sat, great hand resting on his knee. He peered into the roving eye perched on his arm. Invaluable sight this was. Night and brush parted without whimper to betray the skulking wanderers that daylight would drive from open ground. High overhead two great, winged beasts wheeled and dove after prey, but the land yawned empty and presently Be'hsira switched it off.

Behind his mask's optics, he continued to watch. The metal plate lacked the fanciful flourishes that were his privilege as Leader. The pronounced helm had been his only concession to the mask's artisan-aggrieved by the new Leader's lack of interest and imagination. His eyes examined the ridges as they melted by, barely pausing on one before flicking to another. The responsibilities of Leader weighed heavy on his shoulders; he had not borne them long. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed movement, something slipping along the ground more alive than shadow, and he circled down for a closer look, Va'te-vir and Eisoan close behind.

It was nothing. Only a trembling _p'ejasan_ dashing for cover in the desert brush, and they veered away. Those in the rear had seen the abrupt descent, though not its cause, and Reihde and Sigen looked across quizzically at Eoisan as he went by. The old warrior shook his head._ Nothing. All is well_.

Eoisan stole a glance at Be'hsira as he dropped back alongside him. The Leader's jaw was set much as it had been since first they set off, so how could it be that suddenly its harsh planes seemed no longer so severe?

"The hills," Be'hsira growled suddenly, raising his voice to carry and gesturing with a fist. A few heads craned to look at the range that sprawled around. The wiser ones knew the import of the Leader's words. The clan lay beyond the hills, and with it safety. They were hunted no more.

Of an age to have looked with amused indulgence on the excited new warriors, Da'tkre had flown to battle some lengths behind the Leader. The experienced warriors claimed the front positions in flight. The middle belonged to the young and inexperienced; if they failed to keep pace, the others who flew hard behind made sure they found it and quickly. Da'tkre slumped over his flyer's fairing now, fingers probing a shoulder that glowed curiously between the armor's dinged plates. The flyer wobbled and he snatched to steady it-too hard-and it careened away, nearly running into the flyer ahead. Its owner growled in surprise and jerked away. The other yautja scattered before Da'tkre's shaky course, joking as he fought to regain control.

Recovering from her surprise, Ineseu rolled her throttle away. The machine whined and slowed. Da'tkre looked up briefly and muttered in apology. There was no harm done and Ineseu stayed to watch him wrestle his flyer one-handed. He appeared to be losing, but made no attempt to use his left arm. It was contrary to the warrior's nature to complain of an injury; Ineseu knew he would not speak of it unless asked.

"Have you no use of your arm?" she asked edging closer, one eye on the recalcitrant machine.

The flyer gave a final shudder and settled, and Da'tkre exhaled. "No. If I do not move it, the pain is not so bad." He looked up at his clanmate. "How far do you think?"

Ineseu considered. "Sixty _asa._ Perhaps more. I have flown this way but once before we came." She squinted at his shoulder curiously. The narrow cavity shone blue and she hissed in surprise. The solvent sealed vessels shut; the surrounding muscle fossilizing as the minerals hardened in crude substitution for flesh. It worked. Painfully. And too well. Da'tkre must know what he risked.

"You cauterized it? It must have been a deep blow if staples could not close it," she marvelled.

Da'tkre heard the note of wonder as admiration, and bent to the shoulder looking rather pleased. Ineseu grunted.

"Perhaps next time you will not let yourself be struck," she said slyly. Dartkre's head jerked up in a flash, tusks twitching. But Ineseu grinned suddenly, the irresistible offering of a female in good temper, and he contented himself with a sullen grunt.

"Hmph! He came at me while my _ki'cti-pa_ was still buried in another. It was my shoulder or my head. I believe I chose well."

Her grin did not falter. "That remains to be seen. Your shoulder you will use no doubt at our next meal. But when will you use your head?"

This Da'tkre would not let pass. "It is well for you to say," he muttered. "I know I am no scholar. We use what gifts the gods bequeath, and that is as it should be.

"I do not disagree," Ineseu answered, raising a hand hastily to stem the outburst. "Whatever our paths, we are warriors both, and in the end that is how we best serve Keraal." She looked to the front ranks, to where the new sun glinted on Be'hsira's helm. It was in the direction of the sun that home lay. "Your years are greater than mine anyway."

"Right now I do wish I was a healer," Da'tkre grumbled. "That is not even the worst of it. Look." Gingerly, he twisted to pry away a flap of armor from his thigh. The flesh visible was raw, ugly. The blistered edges crept below the metal and disappeared from sight.

"Burner," he said miserably, letting the flap fall. Ineseu nodded. The blue-hot pulse had twisted and warped the protective metal. Its color was oxidized to a warm copper.

"I-I no longer feel the pain. I only pray that there is no lasting damage," Da'tkre muttered below his breath. Ineseu said nothing. A skilled warrior could compensate for a missing arm. But to lose a leg! It was a terrible fate and she looked away in pity.

At last Da'tkre snorted. The short sound banished the awkward silence. She heard the clink of metal and turned to see him busy at the gearings, their conversation apparently forgotten. She watched a moment longer, and realizing that he would say no more, sped up to retake her place.

In what seemed no time they came to the first of the outlying camps and Be'hsira raised a hand to signal the halt. The flyers rumbled in protest at the standstill, and when even that died away, they were left with only the sounds of the wind echoing in the hills. Soon came welcoming cries from the three scouts materializing around them in ripples of silver. Rumbling low, chins pressed to their bare chests, they went to Be'hsira in greeting. They made an incongruous sight: the Leader clad in the full armor of battle, leaning down to the scouts, naked of all but the loincloths draped and ragged around their hips.

Watchers in the hills, the scouts were the clan's eyes to the hostile lands. No, they informed Be'hsira. They had found no trace of encroachers. No sign of anything amiss.

The other yautja fidgeted as they waited. They twisted in their seats to murmur to neighbors, unnecessarily reset the optics that were no longer needed. Some took off the rather cramped plates off altogether and looked at the daylight as if for the first time. The older warriors were outwardly unaffected by the delay, but secretly they were as eager to see an end to the journey. Few spared a second glance for the camp they had passed five cycles ago. It was only a fissure in the side of a dirt hill; hollowed with time and well-aimed plasma blasts into a crevice large enough for a yautja or two. It was crammed to the ceiling instead with supplies, weapons and tools. Where the scouts themselves slept no one knew, and they could remain at their posts for years on end. Even the miners returned to the City at shift's end.

Ineseu knew something of their strange seclusion. At Saliyas' firm suggestion she had taken several shifts on patrol, though her intention had long been to join with the City guards as he had. She was gratified to find the freedom suited her, and high in the hills, she had seen the reclusive scouts for the first time-and had been unsettled. She frowned. Nothing changed for them. Not then. Not now. How did they bear it?

The scouts themselves did not seem to mind, raising their arms in brief farewell before disappearing once more against the backdrop of their tiny cave.

_No. They are not lonely_, Ineseu thought, guiding her flyer on the heels of her clan. _Yet...how lonely are their lives!_

**X.**

The sun glared full down when the steepest of the red hills fell behind. The heat felt good on the exposed limbs, and several newly bare faces upturned to soak it in. On either side _tjau'ke_—dirt-packed—trails led away, to the mines beneath Keraal. They bore recent treads of heavy machinery. Somewhere below the ground, they knew, yautja of their own clan toiled, and the chitters of anticipation swelled.

At last they came over the crest of a low hill and the familiar spires appeared in the distance. Keraal nestled atop a hill, between two hills, and fifty-two eyes fastened eagerly on the Black Stelae that staked the city boundaries. For beauty alone the obsidian pillars were treasure; glyphs etched into each of their five polished sides recounted the clan's most glorious victories in loving detail. They were coming to one of the northern passes, and Be'hsira saw that they would not be the only ones seeking to enter by it.

Hunters. Two of them.

The one, standing with folded arms and scowl darkening his face, was tall and lean. The stone-red cloak and crescent scar on his brow marked him a Blooded Hunter of some high standing. The former's imposing effect was unfortunately lost amidstthe similarly mantled keepers. Painstakingly tailored to kiss floors and stalk ship decks, the cloak's hem trailed the dirt and the Hunter jerked it out with irritation. The shorter male hovering at his elbow backed away hurriedly to a safe distance.

Their coming was not unnoticed. The four gatekeepers were turned, heads cocked as they followed the flyers' path. The one who undoubtedly led, moved to stand before them, legs planted wide. The scowling hunter turned as well, eyes narrowing, but he had been forgotten. The lead keeper's head tilted back, studying the flyers. His breathing slits flared beneath his mask. He was the only one so equipped; the others waited behind and beside him, still and waiting for his order. The scouts had sent word ahead of the Leader's return but they had to make sure...

Realizing that the riders were indeed Keraal's returning warriors, the keeper's suspicion dropped away. His aggressive stance eased, and when the flyers were near, his fist raised to thump above his heart in a show of pride and respect. The three keepers behind hastened to do the same.

Be'hsira returned the salute, frowning, aware of the eyes that suddenly swung to him. The keepers meant well, but the display had attracted the Hunters' interest in a way he did not like. The taller murmured something to his companion; his eyes met Be'hsira's briefly and slid away. Before Be'hsira could stop short, angry, the Hunters's head inclined deep in the greeting proper to two yautja already acquainted. Were they not, the greeting was not properly deferent to the one superior, but still fell short of being disrespectful. Be'hsira had no interest in finding out one way or the other, and irritated, he let it pass.

He slowed instead amongst the keepers, wanting to pass a word, but they had already opened the pass and were waving him through. The Hunters looked on resentfully as the battle-weary Warriors went through, growling their thanks, but Be'shira's brow furrowed at the remiss. Gatekeepers had orders to look over everyone and everything. _Everyone_. Every yautja-every piece of cargo that went in and out of Keraal, was to be checked. It was the price paid for security in a landlocked city that thrived on trade. Eoisan grunted next to him and Be'hsira knew the older yautja was thinking the same thing.

"Speak to them," Beh'sira said simply. Eoisan dipped away. Their passing raised a cloud of dust that choked the air. The Hunters coughed and wheezed miserably but Be'hsira ignored them. One glance had been enough. He knew their business if not their faces. No traders these were, though they came in pursuit of trade. They must seek an unusual quantity or design if they had come this far to assure the order. Hunters preferred not to waste time on such trivials if they could help it. Which suited Be'hsira just fine.

His grip on the flyer's bars tightened. He didn't need to look back to know what he would also see; the crestfallen faces of the keepers who now found themselves faced with a displeased Eoisan bearing down on them. He smiled grimly. El'ctewould have disapproved. But Be'hsira had never thought it necessary to embarrass those he commanded to gain their respect. And nothing soured loyalty like a leader's refusal to see it. No-nonsense Eoisan would make the point- away from the Hunters' sight and hearing. Discreetly and in as few words as possible. Yes, he had done right.

Ressured, he turned down one of the winding streets that channeled into the City, speeding by the stories of buildings that housed the bulk of the population; the yautja who worked the mines, food and production centers. The quarters of the artisans and scientists stood away from the others, for they worked at all hours of day and night. All adults were battle-ready, warriors with some level of skill but most found some other occupation worthy of their time. Vis a vis painstakingly maintained records, yautja were called upon in their turn to the honor and privilege of battle. Only the most dedicated Warriors who consecrated themselves almost entirely to the business of war, eschewing other pursuits, kept quarters in the Temple.

One by one, the flyers slowed to smoothly descend on the streets. The day was new, but the trickle of foot and vehicular traffic was steady and Be'hsira stifled a yawn. So much the better. When the city was too quiet, few things could bode well. He would be glad when he could shed care for a few stolen hours of sleep. His thoughts wandered idly to H'sai-di, then forgotten for some pleasant moments was even the thought of sleep.

"Be'hsira."

At his name Be'hsira looked up. Ineseu. One of the warriors two ages ahead of those just completing training. Like the others she was caked in grime and dust. She had something to say, that much was obvious, but she remained there, hesitating.

"What is it?" he grunted, head tilting in genuine curiosity. The younger female rarely approached him. H'sai-di-lovely, lively H'sai-di-was so possessive of his attentions, though Ineseu her age mate, was a great friend. How this had come to be, Be'hsira did not know. Fine warriors and comrades in battle though they were, the ways of females were mystery without answer.

Wordlessly, Ineseu thumbed behind as reply. Understanding, Be'hsira nodded. Moments later four flyers splintered away to disappear between the gates of the massive building forming ahead. After a brief exchange, Ineseu and Da'tkre followed.

Be'hsira turned the remaining flyers up the glassy streets. The Temple rose in the distance, steady and familiar, capstones crowned by the vermillion sun.

Dead, breathing-Be'hsira's warriors were home.

**.X.**

Da'tkre leaned heavily against Ineseu. She was helping him dismount outside the healer's center, arm hooked into hers. He would accept no further help, and for the time being struggled vainly to drag his leg over without pulling them both down. Va'te-vir and Athan'de untied the last bier from its lashings, and heaved to march it past the center's front doors.

Da'tkre was deadweight and Ineseu grumbled. "I should put you out of your suffering. Then this wouldn't be necessary."

"Were that the case, someone must still carry me," he pointed out. Ineseu's half-hearted snarl was his reply.

His feet finally on solid ground, Da'tkre leaned over to find good footing. Ineseu had bent near to help and straightened, satisfied with the success of their efforts. Their foreheads met with a loud smack, and both recoiled as if bitten by something poisonous. Ineseu sprang away; Da'tkre backed into the side of the flyer from which he had just pulled himself. Far worse for Ineseu than pain was the immediate shock-it was suffocation, danger, _violation _all in one. She clapped a hand to her face and glared at Da'tkre, eyes gone hard beneath the mask that glared at him now without pity.

"I didn't mean it," Da'tkre exclaimed at once, tusks spreading in alarm. He touched his forehead gingerly. Amonga race that hunted-and was hunted-for them, the head was sacred. Even its touch an intimacy reserved to mates and to young pups. Warriors in battle were rightly protective of their head, always anxious that it be shielded from danger, and flying into a red rage if attacked on this vulnerable point. Da'tkre's own shock had swiftly passed on, but his instinct to mate had surged in the wake of the intimate contact, not unexpectedly. Being a female, Ineseu felt differently.

Unaware she did so Ineseu's hand curled into a fist at her side, but Da'tkre noticed and winced. She continued to glare, but clearer consciousness was returning. This was her clanmate-no foe, and the offensive contact had not been intentional. Moreover she even liked Da'tkre. After some reflection, the hard fist unballed and Da'tkre slumped again, so great was his relief. It would have been a swift, simple quarrel; they would have remained friends in the end, but he was in no shape to defend himself. Besides, males avoided quarrels with females if they could help it. If one had ambitions to mate, it was simply the better policy.

"I know," Ineseu said grudgingly after a moment. She repressed a final shudder. "Come on."

Abashed, Da'tkre obeyed. After some trial they found that he could get along better by ignoring the injured leg, using only Ineseu's shoulder for balance as he dragged it along. In this awkward fashion they stumbled past the empty waiting area into the wing for acute care. A single healer came out to meet them, and not without a sense of relief, Ineseu unwound herself and pushed Da'tkre towards him.

He was an old, old warrior, whose least movement spoke of great deliberation. He reached to examine Da'tkre's shoulder, the skin of his hand swinging in loose folds. Da'tkre grumbled as the gnarled hands roamed his shoulder and took a hard thump to his chest for his trouble. His hip elicited even greater attention, and Da'tkre stood uncomfortably but unprotesting under the examination. The cursory assessment over, the healer tapped a sequence of numbers onto the gauntlet encircling his gaunt forearm. Two apprentices appeared and set on the patient with rough hands to haul him away, Da'tkre's voice rose in furious complaint, and taking her cue Ineseu turned to leave. If the prognosis was good Da'tkre would be up and around soon enough, grumbling as was his usual way. But if the leg could not be saved he would not want her, nor anyone else near.

Ineseu retraced the way out. She was restless; it dragged behind her like a tangible chain and unhappily she wondered why. She had her trophies. She was alive. She was home. Why then this feeling of something not done? Movement through a double row of doors caught her eye and she paused. Across the far side of the courtyard, a row of wards stretched from themain building. A healer slipped from one, soaked down her front, bare arms slick with slippery ropes of bloodied mucus. A sharp cry trailed her; a female was giving birth in one of the sterile rooms.

_A worker. Or miner, _Ineseu thought, turning away. _Or else not her first pup._ Most new mothers preferred to give birth in the seclusion of their quarters if they had them. Perhaps a healer in attendance if a difficult labor was expected. The wards were the last resort of a female unable to get away from pups underfoot.

She almost ran into Va'te-vir who was exiting the room where the dead were laid out to wait, head bowed. Va'te-vir's mask was clenched in her hand; she shivered still from the room's artificial cold. Her eyes were lidded in exhaustion but they signalled a silent invitation, and Ineseu fell into step beside her. They walked past the flyers without stopping, turning onto the street and towards the Temple. The machines bore unique tags, and would be picked up by the workers who swept the City to collect and relocate equipment. Ineseu rubbed her shoulder where an old hurt was flaring up; the act recalled Da'tkre and she wondered fleetingly what was becoming of him.

The Temple was flanked by columns of stone cut solid and heavy from Keraal mines, cased with fine, gray basalt traded during some distant time from long forgotten clans. For generations it had stood: its genesis beyond the recollection of even Vkitei for whom 900 years had come and gone. Ineseu and Va'te-vir slowed, was acknowledged by the two guards watching the common entrance and went on. The monolith's exterior was gloomy, forbidding-deliberately so Ineseu often suspected, but inside light streamed unreigned through the high-set glass casements. The desert sun burned on its zenith for twenty of the day's thirty hours; this open design made good use of each ray. Ineseu unmasked, and turning her face to the filtered sun, felt her spirits finally lift.

Ineseu parted from Va'te-vir on the third level. She had a last glimpse of her friend's head nodding forward in sleep before the doors closed and the lift continued its ascent to the private quarters above. After a few turns she stopped before the nondescript entrance to the _kehda—_the strategy room-and turned into the side recess. The computer hummed briefly as it comparing her brain wave imaging to its file. The match accepted, Ineseu stepped through the door to a familiar sight. A group of Warriors stood in the curve of a massive table almost the breadth of the room. The holomap they studied intently cast but a dim light, and she slipped in unnoticed, save for the few heads that had turned absent-mindedly at the door's opening. Ceniedi the tracker walked through the map to examine a detail from the other side, her single eye unblinking.

Be'hsira was already there; the head of the Gaechdtan commander resting in dubious honor atop the table. The eyes remained stubbornly open, the mouth snarled in impotent rage, and from her inconspicuous corner Ineseu grinned to see it. How she would have liked to have taken _that_ trophy. Be'hsira and Saliyas were deep in conversation, their tone low although no discussion held here had a reasonable expectation of secrecy. All adult yautja had a right to be privy to deliberations, overzealous guards notwithstanding. But in the _kehda_ one's voice tended to fall into a respectful hush. Not without reason was it also known as the war room...

Be'hsira turned to go and Saliyas followed, head tiltedas if considering some question. He reached out as if to touch Be'hsira's arm, but seemed to recollect himself and let it fall. Ineseu could not see what had caught Be'hsira's attention after all, but he turned, brow raised inquiringly. Saliyas murmured something, too low for any but the Leader to hear. Be'hsira stared for a moment, nodded curtly, then was gone.

Ineseu averted her gaze quickly when Saliyas turned, but needed no sight to know when his eyes found and fixed on her. After a beat, she met them. As she had known he would, he was studying her. Not a muscle twitched in his face as he slowly tilted his head again, motioning her to the table. Without waiting to see that she obeyed, he strode away. Ineseu slid a chair towards her and dropped into it. Shaking off the uneasy feeling of being a pup again, she studied her once-guardian with a trace of the old awe. Well past the warrior's prime age of 450 years, and a grandfather many times over, Saliyas was burly even for a male of their clan. Males tended towards denser musculature than the females, who otherwise matched or exceeded them in height and ferocity. Saliyas who had seen many warriors through crucial tactical training, was apt to say that what females lacked in sheer bulk Paya had returned to them twofold in intelligence. In his own, younger years he himself had been renowned for his strength; no easy feat among a race of titans. That strength had ebbed little with advancing age.

From long experience, Ineseu made ready to wait as long as Saliyas thought another matter more pressing. She had thoughts enough to occupy the time—not all of them pleasant-and was taken unaware when Saliyas detached himself from the huddled conference not long after. She came to her feet, surprised. Saliyas' craggy face offered no hint of his thoughts, but he cocked his head consideringly as he came to stand before her.

"No wounds," he observed flatly. Ineseu's chin lifted at the simple words that could have easily been a slight.

"No. I fought as I had to," she said defensively. "_You_ taught me that scars are only one badge of a warrior."

She stopped, wondering if she had gone too far. But Saliyas agreed easily. "So I did. Scars are a testament to what we think we survive anyway. But the Black Warrior claims with soft smile as surely as he does with hard claw. Though foolish warriors scorn unblemished skin as befitting only pups." His mandibles lifted in a hard smile. "If they are lucky enough to grow old they may yet learn better. Now, I have heard Be'hsira's account of the battle. Tell me. What do you make of it?"

Ineseu shrugged, but she was relaxing. This was more familiar ground. "It was as the scouts told. Two dozen warriors crossing from the wild lands. We found their trail near the old waterway that has lain dry these three hundred years. They divided to lie in ambush and pick us off from the back." She paused. "An old trick. I wonder that they thought it would work."

"An old trick, but an effective one. Which is why weuse it still," Saliyas grunted.

"Yes. You are right of course. Had Be'hsira not foreseen their plan, it would have gone badly with us."

"The recovery was well done," Saliyas pronounced. He moved closer, laying a claw on her shoulder. "You are back and I have seen you. Now go rest. We will have a long night." His gaze moved to the claw on her shoulder, and suddenly his face sagged in a way she had never seen.

_Something troubles him..._Ineseu realized. The surprise turned her rigid under his grasp and Saliyas stiffened. He growled. "Rest," he repeated, tightening his grip to make his meaning clear: _Do you disobey?_

Ineseu ducked her head. _No. I submit. _

His arm fell away and Ineseu left, but not before casting a last, admiring look at the table. A Temple worker had slipped into the dark room, and was taking the head away to be cleaned and mounted.

Plagued by worries new and old, Saliyas saw the young warrior's look and chuckled to himself.

A/N: To anyone still reading this story: the fact that I naively underestimated the number of chapters to get to the point where Chapter 5 will leave off (two chapters was my initial plan) is a warning to you how much you risk by sticking with it. What's the saying? A wing and a prayer? I must also confess that this chapter is really only the first half of what was intended to be Chapter 4. So...as it turned out, I've already (accidentally) written much of Chapter 5.

The bit of brain-wave technology the clan uses to guard their war room (snicker) I based on the real-life work of a Canadian researcher. I read an article about it, and was mind-boggled enough to remember its gist (though not the researcher's name or field).

I do know about the predator shoulder shake, but couldn't help but think there must be more than one way "to greet a predator". Ahem.

Last-I'm really, really relieved to finally get this chapter out. I hope to never go through that again.


	5. Inheritance

**Note: **Rather long chapter ahead. Too long in the making. Please excuse. Heads up that there is a flashback within this flashback.

**.X.**

The Teclor matter settled with the Leader's return and veto, the yautja of Keraal turned to more pressing business. Upon them was the break in days, when work shifts simultaneously began and ended. Yautja would pour in and out of the city in a torrent, and one by one the senior Warriors left to see to those under their command. If the Leader bore the Clan's future on his broad back, without question they helped shoulder its daily trials.

Ceneidi and Saliyas were the last to leave. Haste made Ceneidi's distinctive gait more pronounced; that slight pause and hitch of the leg poorly healed. Saliyas was across the room before the door had fully descended behind her. By now the pitcher on the tray of fruit and sweetmeats was empty, but the goblet beside it was half-full. He contemplated the latter before taking an experimental swig. The liquor was still hot and good; he swallowed it down, liking the way it left his throat raw, then drained the pitcher as well.

Setting the vessels aside Saliyas sank into the seat left vacant by the young Warrior. Something pulled beneath his weight and tore. With one hand he pulled out the cloak he'd draped earlier over the armrest. Resigned, he shook out the cloth to study the damage: enough that the garment could never be worn again. Fortunately it was not his best, being rather faded from the bright crimson it had once been. The cloth was still fine for all its wear, and he re-folded and placed it beside the goblet. Nothing went to waste in Keraal; perhaps another use could be found for it.

Dawn had found him long in the _ke'hda_, having taken no sleep that night nor the night before. The _c'ntlip_ lit a fire in his gut, and he settled comfortably against the chair's padded back. The Leader's triumph was welcome news. A fair result even: one victory for one loss. On the very day Be'hsira had set off, scouts had given the alert to a band of yautja on the fringe of the Clan's lands. How many the scouts could not say, but the yautja's intentions were irrelevant. They were trespassing. If they could be found, they were honorable Kills. El'cte had gathered thirty-three warriors-all that could be spared-and gone to the chase. But the enemy was vanished without a trace and El'cte had been forced to return, empty-handed and in a foul mood. Never the most easy-going of yautja, El'cte's humor had been frayed bare by the fruitless pursuit. After the tense debriefing Saliyas had watched him retire to his quarters, with the satisfaction of one watching a roused beast retreating to its lair. When word of the Council reached El'cte, the beast would rouse anew, but Be'hsira had taken the news in stride and of course, Saliyas muttered under his breath, that was all that mattered.

The wild lands were worthy of their name, one of the few bastions of primitive rule on a world many centuries conquered and civilized. As a practical matter, it belonged only to the beasts which teemed that vast realm. Keraal patrolled a narrow swath as a conduit to the hunting clans and their valuable trade. For trade-and trade alone-was what lured the Hunters from their own cities and Hunts to make the uncertain trek south.

Saliyas brooded near the holomap, chin on clasped hands. Its thousand faint lights winked, blurring into each other; sometimes blinking out completely. Were he so inclined he could even imagine they taunted him. The means of thwarting this remote surveillance had been a lightning-bolt discovery some years before. Though closely guarded, the knowledge had somehow leaked and spread like wildfire. No equal replacement had yet been found, and as it were, a foreign clan's presence could only be confirmed at close range or with actual sighting. A grin spread slowly across the old Warrior's face. Hunters were often paranoid that new technology was being withheld from market. They were right.

His grin faded. Somewhere in Gaechdt territory he was sure, a similar map was being examined with equal frustration-an age-old stalemate that would persist until one wiped the other from all memory.

Or until the Hunters had their way.

Saliyas shook his white head. How long had the Hunting clans sought to bring their desert-dwelling kin into the Council's fold? For twenty millennia themselves organized under the Council's all-reaching claw. Bribery, cajolery, diplomacy-all tried and failed. United solely in their common distrust of the Hunting clans, the Warrior enclaves had in turn refused, in terms varyingly civil and impolite. Saliyas' mandibles retracted with a click; his face twisted in distaste. _Hypocrites!_ _They seek to forget their ancestors were both prey and hunter. As were ours. As are we._

A thousand pinpricks of light. Each a life vulnerable-and eminently desirable. Feeling a little self-conscious, Saliyas held a claw out before him. A moon passing before a star blots it from view. So now did all light vanish, and warrior that he was Saliyas let his hand fall with a shudder. _Keraal. Gone. Would it ever be?_ "Never!" The vow said aloud was a harsh growl in the darkness. _Uttered by an old Warrior who should know_ _better,_ Saliyas thought. A vow to whom he did not know. No...he knew, and unease curdled his stomach. Even as he spoke he had known the word to be a lie. Once it had so nearly come to pass...

_A desperate battle-_abold attack brought to the enemy. A battle all knew would be sung for generations, stirring each to fight harder in the hopes that his own name would be sung as well. They fought long and hard, Saliyas and his clanmates, the last of the enemy crumpling to the dirt amidst a howled frenzy of blood-proud cries. But their own loss had been catastrophic. Five score warriors returned to the City, unnaturally silent and dead-and to the realization that they were all that remained of their once thousand-strong clan. Save for the pups, nursing and pregnant females, and Warriors too old for battle.

Never would Saliyas forget. Standing beneath a moon brimming silver, they had looked at each other aghast, finding only defeat and exhaustion mirrored in each others' eyes. Someone whispered the words first, stumbling over the words, and after their first shock the yautja took it up as their rallying cry. They knew. What must be done. What had not been done since the times of their forebearers nine generations gone.

Grim-faced, Saliyas and his clanmates made ready to draw lots.

One yautja- it was A'tradi, Saliyas remembered-held out the precious strips of parchment quilled in each fist. One to each warrior hale enough to keep his feet. Some blank; most inscribed with a pup's name. Lot-drawing was the ancient way of choosing amongst their numbers; a matter inherently fraught with the dangers of conflict, especially when there was no Leader to oversee. The gods would appoint Guardians as they saw fit, and who would be rash enough to decrytheir choice? No pup would want for food and shelter—Keraal sheltered its own. But a pup was not a meat animal, whose only destiny was to be fed, watered and sheltered until its appointed time came. Those chosen bound themselves to the responsibility of bringing up the orphaned pups in the ways of the Clan, for as the old saying went: _De-jin da kehin; _'_a_ _le-jen tain_ _ma_ _kehin. _The clan is each Warrior; in the smallest pup is the Warrior.

Saliyas had gone forward in his turn, the ebony of his locks already giving way to grey. His face set in a resolute mask when he looked at the square lying benignly in his hand-and the single word that marred it. He knew his duty and would perform it as was only right he should. But the gods had been kind though he had not yet known it. They had given him Ineseu, a sturdy pup who eyed him warily, but accepted his presence without protest when he lead her away.

Ineseu's distress had come later, in the quiet, dark hours, when it finally penetrated somewhere in the thicket of her young mind that her bearer was not coming back. In vain Saliyas had striven to quieten her. He was exhausted; beaten down by the night's events and his own grief—it was not yet the time to mourn-but it would not have been fair to foist her on another, even for one night. His clanmates had their own pups, foster or blood to tend. In his exhaustion Saliyas had not shed the armor natural to him as his own skin. He cradled the pup's bony body to his metal-clad chest, searching his memory for the reassurances his bearer used to croon to him. Too young for much speech, but as susceptible to a comforting voice as all young ones are, Ineseu's complaints had gradually died away. Hours later Saliyas jerked awake not knowing when he had fallen asleep, his charge tucked beneath his chin, unaccustomed pup scent batting at his senses.

Saliyas had not taken much sleep those first nights. None had. Always there had been work enough for twice as many, and now only a tenth of their number to do it. Even for those no stranger to rearing pups it had been a trial. A strange time seared into the memories of those old enough to understand.

How carefully they had tended these pups left to them! As if well-intentioned minstrations could replace the three generations lost in one night.

Ineseu's bearer Saliyas had known only in passing—she was a blacksmith-but her sire had been a commander in the west patrols, a position not unlike the one to which Ineseu would likely one day ascend. Saliyas mulled his former charge, now full-grown: the proud head and grave eyes that remained unblinking when she was deep in thought. He had felt their gaze on him and Be'hsira. Never would he have admitted it, but such attentiveness secretly pleased him. It was good to be watchful though, he shook his head, she was not as often as she should be. A good Warrior remained alert to danger even in familiar surroundings. Saliyas prided himself on his amicable relations within the Clan, but he was not one to be overly familiar with any yautja. Even her. And especially not his Leader.

Saliyas' brow furrowed. Yes, that night had marked a new beginning for Keraal...

_Four score warriors lined up like expectant pups-_each wondering whether or not they knew it: _Is it me? Will I be our young Leader's Guardian?_ For Ciuppe who had led them bravely into battle had fallen there, his grown offspring falling with him. Had there been no heir to the Leadership, they would have eventually chosen a new Leader from their numbers-commencing a new dynasty. But among the pups in the huddled mass of orphans had been Be'hsira, Ciuppe's only surviving offspring.

The breaths of many had quickened as they reached for the parchment capable of changing lives in one stroke. The one chosen Be'hsira's Guardian would speak for him until he was old and wise enough to take up his Leadership. Until then Leader himself in all but name. Bonds between yautja of like age and occupation were often close, sometimes closer than blood. The Guardian would become_ as _blood, sharing in Be'hsira's glory until death or disavowal.

So the thoughts of all must have been the same when it was known that it was El'cte- El'cte of the sour snarl and mercurial temper-who had drawn Be'hsira's name.

"_Not he! Anyone but he!"_

Well El'cte must have known it, yet his face was inscrutable when he held up the writing for all to see. If he noticed the uneasy looks and dismayed rumbles he did not show it. Yet one by one, all had acknowledged their fealty to the young Be'hsira, his Leadership manifest in El'cte. Doubt is a wearisome companion; gratefully the Clan turned to certainty. El'cte would lead. Every one of them loved a good fight, but the time for fighting was past. Every able hand was needed now, and they turned their attentions to fortifying the City: their own heads were a temptation for any observant clan.

And had it not been for Ciuppe's stubbornness, it almost certainly would have never been. _He could have named a Guardian of his choice for Be'hsira, _Saliyas thought. _Or knowing that our Clan would need guidance sorely, name a new Leader, one ready, as he lay gasping for air. His hand over the hole in his side that poured green though we tried to stem it. _

Ciuppe had not believed it was his time to ride with the Black Warrior. None had—so sure they would return victorious over the smaller clan. And so some had, Saliyas thought with a twinge of sorrow. Rising, he punched the controls on the master console. The room fell dark and the console settled into slumber. The holomap's glow lingered the longest before it too died away. Saliyas ducked through the doorway, footfalls echoing emptily as he moved towards the lifts.

Keraal had survived, though the clan defeated that night had never recovered. Over the years that followed a series of skirmishes sent it into near extinction; its few survivors last seen disappearing towards Pa'si in the south. None knew what had become of them. Saliyas stared at the closed lift doors, not seeing them. They had judged El'cte too harshly. Too swiftly. He saw that now. As Leader he had proven fair: favoring none and never failing to mete out punishment when it was deserved, and perhaps, Saliyas thought wryly, that was the trouble. Still he had done right by Be'hsira, grown to be a level-headed warrior. Not a single voice had risen in opposition at the meeting convened to consider Be'hsira's ascension, and the shift in power had been peaceably made. El'cte's own authority was a curious matter: without name but unchallenged. For though Be'hsira had come into his Leadership these three years, he continued to share counsel with El'cte, the Guardian of his youth.

Saliyas could find no reproach for this; didn't his Ineseu still seek him out? The doors to the lift opened; the cage arrived on a cushion of the stale air that billowed constantly from the ducts. It settled to level and Saliyas waited to make sure no one was exiting.

Still, he reflected as he entered, there must come a time when a young yautja must stand entirely on his own two feet. And for a Warrior who would lead Warriors, that day must need come sooner than most.

**.X.**

Ineseu tugged at her armor in the corridor, unhappy. The worry lining Saliyas' face had shaken her more than she could have explained. She, best of all, knew its novelty. To worry was simply not Saliyas' way, and that was more than enough reason for her to frown so as she walked. That Saliyas had not intended her to see was clear. Yet this was more like him, and Ineseu smiled grimly to herself. As if she had no eyes. Well, he was entitled to privacy-but the dismissal still stung. Ineseu swore suddenly, flexing her fingers and grimaced. As did the itch crawling persistently over her skin.

Yautja did not easily sweat, but there was no halting the dust that carried on the wind and seeped beneath armor into crevices. The fine grit chafed, and she reached to scratch through the metal before realizing what she was doing. What had only been mild irritation was acute discomfort by the time she came to a stop in front of her own quarters. The light dress and clean odor of those in the _ke'hda_ had heightened her disgust of herself and she longed to wash the grime away.

Her armor was the utilitarian fittings of the patrols who bear its weight for long stretches of time: moulded chestplate, arm, neck and leg guards, three blade sheaths and their fastenings. Care of weapons and armor was one of the first things a yautja learned, and each piece had its place on the wall. Ineseu slid a finger to her neck, probing for the oval depression between the metal coils. The guard unclasped like a shell's halves into her hands and she set it gently on its shelf. The neck guards encircled from collarbone to chin, giving protection from a searching blade. The strip of flesh just beneath the chin remained bare, so the head could move freely. A blade could still find this sweet, perfect space, but only skill would cleanly sever without sawing into the jawbone. She left the blades sheathed for they were clean.

At last she stood comfortably bare, having discarded even the Warrior's chest harness and plain undergarment. A flash of dull cream on the work table caught her eye. She caught it up, pleased to see it was a task note from the worker who had attended to her flyer. Setting the note aside, she retrieved her trophies from the storage beside the table. They had kept well on the journey, and she handled them gingerly for they were ice-cold. She turned the larger around in her hands. He had been a formidable Warrior, with legs like pillars and white scars flecking his leathery skin. Ineseu was proud to have had the honor of Killing him. Warm with anticipation of their cleaning, she returned the heads to their keep. Her preference was for quality skulls; the consequence was that her collection was nearly equally given over to weapons. But these would make fine additions. Weapons told a more interesting story anyway. Not unusually, they were specifically designed for the ones who wielded them. If they carried the foreign clan's sigil, or even the Warrior's own mark they were only more desirable.

Using an old cloth she wiped away stray smears of green from the table, tossing the dirty rag into the disposal. In the bathing room she eyed the facilities. Each suite of rooms boasted a horizontal shower, sufficient to satisfy the most basic element of hygiene. The bather reclined on a full-length seat, hand carved from a single block of stone to mimick the body's contours. Stone was a natural choice: tactile, and absorbing and dispersing heat generously. The design presented the entire body for cleaning, even remote parts like the feet. Opaque glass walls enclosed the bathing area, chest-high, and four spouts supplied water that drained into a catch in the stone base. Ineseu got in gingerly and the water blushed faint green. Shaking her head, she set to work with a rough cloth and cleansing gel. The room filled with steam and she fanned the mist away

When the rap on the door came she was looking for the cloth, dropped somewhere in the respectable pile of suds her lathering had created. Absentmindedly, she called for it to open. Her visitor must have come in-there came the sound of the door closing-but still gave no greeting. Ineseu pressed a button on the base and the flow of water stopped. She listened. The bathing room filled then with the calming pheromones of a yautja mother; redolent of sun-warm grass and playful puphood. Ineseu grinned and jabbed the button again with a toe. The irony had not grown old, though her friend's scent had become fainter as she drew further from the pregnancy that had prompted it. "In here!" she called out, over the water's hiss.

H'sai-di's head poked around the door, grinning wide. She had the look of one well-rested and for that alone Ineseu could have envied her. A robe the color of old ivory skirted her knees. Her arms and feet were bare, save for the engraven ring around her ankle; a gift from Be'hsira. With easy grace she found a perch on the shower's edge, pulling at the robe's hem to keep it from the water.

"Please, make yourself comfortable. You are welcome here," Ineseu grunted.

H'sai-di looked down at her friend, unperturbed. "I know. I also know that you will sleep away the day as the others will and I determined to see you before tonight."

"Tonight? You mean the burning?"

"Ye-es. That as well." H'said-di cocked her head. "Have you not heard?"

"Heard what?" Ineseu mumbled.

"El'cte is returned. Last night, in the dark hours before you came. We take this night's meal in the Great Hall."

Ineseu considered this. News indeed. Such a premature return could only mean a stunning victory. Or loss.

"What of the battle then?" she asked, fearing the answer.

H'sai-di's reply was devastating. "What battle? Can one slay the ground, the air? For that was all El'cte found." There was mockery in her voice and Ineseu let it pass without comment. It was no secret that there was little love lost between H'sai-di and the once Guardian. El'cte had favored another to bear Be'hsira's heirs, and unwisely, someone had let H'sai-di learn of it. Ineseu knew H'sai-di's fury was equally injured pride. Like most, Be'hsira enjoyed multiple bedmates. But he was also Leader and by law his line would pass through his most dominant mate. Few would have disputed H'sai-di was that, but gnashing her teeth H'sai'di had set herself to proving it, once and for all. The matches had been claw-to-claw: weapons were not allowed, but they were still deadly serious from the combatants' point of view. Be'hsira had not seen the necessity—in his mind no other female could compare-but H'sai-di would not be swerved. For the sake of any pups she would bear him, there must be no doubt left.

Only one bout had counted. H'sai-di was a whirlwind of blows and the Guardian's favorite soon capitulated. H'sai-di's look shot at El'cte, watching expressionlessly on the other side of the platform, was one of pure triumph. _See! _it said. _I am the best. Never question that again! _Head thrown back she proclaimed her victory in an exultant roar that rang the training hall. Ineseu was the first to answer; the howls of the other females added to theirs swelled the emotion into a crushing wave of roars. The males who had been whooping along during the fights, fell silent. Living side by side as they did, few barriers existed between the sexes. Now the males sensed the message unspoken: this is females' business. Ignoring El'cte and Be'hsira both, H'sai-di turned on her heel and stalked out. Ineseu and her clan sisters met her outside, still in high spirits. She who would bear the future Leader was known to the Clan and they celebrated into the night.

Ineseu smiled at the memory, but H'sai-di's face was still scrunched into a scowl. Ineseu sighed. "Have you seen Be'hsira yet?" she asked, changing the topic.

H'sai-di smiled at last, eyes suddenly knowing and smoldering. "He sleeps as well. I wager I had as much to do with it as the Gaedchtans."

Ineseu shifted on the stone seat. After the challenge H'sai-di had continued to take the occasional mate -but always there had been Be'hsira. Such devotion to one male was outside Ineseu's own experience. But lucky H'sai-di who was so obviously tilted her head then, remembering something. "You...and Be'hsira? You weaned Ta'kewe then?

"Two days after you left. Two days too late to join you." H'sai-di's voice was wistful. "The City felt empty while you were gone."

"You did not miss much," Ineseu reassured her, propping a leg on the shower's scrolled end to admire her handiwork. "They'll make the mistake of assigning us together one day, and then we shall have some fun!"

A look of contemplation came into H'sai-di's eyes. "Saliyas draws up the schedules of the north and east patrols does he not? Have him transfer us both to the north. Four clans lie in that direction; we're bound to see some action there!"

Ineseu was shaking her head before H'sai-di finished. "Saliyas shows me no favor without good reason. You know that. Would you ask Be'hsira to intercede for you?"

H'sai-di's tusks fluttered. "I would. He would do it gladly, knowing I would never ask too high a favor. That _is_ an idea. Perhaps I will." She rose and gave her robe a quick shake-somehow it was damp after all-and disappeared, calling lightly to Da'kaan whose quarters were opposite. Whether he gave answer Ineseu did not know. The door closed and the sounds of the corridor were gone. Finishing her bath, she dried and pulled on a sleeveless shift before climbing into the bed. A damp circle formed on the sheet beneath her hair, already drying fast, and she moved to the other side. She would have slept on the floor before needlessly soiling the sheets-she had done the workers' jobs before-but water was harmless. Sleep would not come for her, but Ineseu was used to its fickleness and only waited. The City was also awake; its cacophony filtered through the window that remained open in good weather, and an imperious bark of command rose from the grounds. _Second shift, _Ineseu thought, rubbing her eyes drowsily. _I wonder who is on duty, _and with thatthought was finally asleep.

She was pulled from slumber some time later, roused by the certain knowledge of another's presence. Yawning she rolled to her side and blinked unalarmed at the sun-lit room. She was already beginning to rise when the door opened on its own. The young male in the corridor was just as startled. "I was told to clean the rooms on this level. I knocked—I did not know anyone was here," he stammered, backing away. "I will come back later."

"It is all right," Ineseu said, beginning to yawn, then changing her mind. It was. Had she really been sound asleep just moments before? She stretched, fingers linked, arms high over her head. "Come in." After a moment the apprentice edged past the door, unwilling or unable to meet the eyes of the female sitting up in the bed. Ineseu noticed and rumbled low in amusement. It would not be so long that this male sought the same attention he avoided. Abandoning the bed and the pretense of sleep, Ineseu went to the window. A guard's back and shoulders were visible, standing far below at the colonnades, legs braced wide. She studied in vain; at that distance it was impossible to identify him. Between frowns, she watched the youngling work his way around the room. Not yet at full weight, but surely near his adult height, he was as lanky as a sapling tree. A strip of leather held back the locks that fell to his shoulders. Yet gawky as he was, his hands were sure, wiping the table and bookcase with quick, deft movements. Nothing was overlooked; he even dusted a quick cloth over the shelves of her armory wall. The leather belt around his waist clanked as he moved, its pockets occupied by sundry tools that were the mark of his apprenticeship. Ineseu tapped the window with a clawtip, head to one side.

"What is to be your trade?" she asked suddenly.

The apprentice's hand stumbled. "I train as a blacksmith, Warrior" he answered, recovering.

Ineseu gave a quick nod. "My bearer was blacksmith I am told."

For the first time he looked at her full, face open and beaming. "My sire and bearer are, both. I apprentice with my sire. When my Warrior training is complete and my time to the Temple served, I join his guild."

"That is good. Keraal can not have too many weaponry makers," Ineseu said approvingly.

The apprentice's eager look faltered.

"What is it?" she asked

"I follow my sire, gladly, but one day I hope to do more. I want to create...sculptures, art..." the apprentice trailed off, flushing.

Ineseu was nonplussed. Over time some yautja found that their interests turned inwards. They discovered beauty in things other than the bent of a blade, and sheen of a new spearpoint. Artistry was more common in one near the twilight of his years. It was a farseeing choice for one so young. "A worthy aspiration," Ineseu said kindly after a moment. "Perhaps your work will one day adorn the Temple. I am myself fond of the piece mounted in the alcove of the Great Hall. Do you know it?"

The apprentice lifted his crestfallen head. "Oh yes!" he exclaimed, eyes widening with pleasure. "The sister and brother Warrior. I have studied it...many times! Such workmanship I dream to one day match!" He launched then into a loving appraisal of the mosaic's attributes; the precious metals and stones used in its composition, the artist's eye for color and proportion, and his incredible sensitivity in relating the beloved allegory. Affection for his topic had overcome the apprentice's awe of his more senior clanmate. His words poured forth in a great stream, and with great effort Ineseu suppressed the smile that would send him scuttling back into caution. At last he stopped for breath, and she said gravely: "Well said Master artist. You have certainly given me new fodder to appreciate this piece. I will not look it again without thinking of your words."

The apprentice darted a suspicious look at her, but Ineseu was straight-faced and he was satisfied. She watched him work some moments more, then found her eyes wandering outside again and sighed. "I find I cannot sleep. I leave you to your work if you tell me the hour."

"Four after midday" was the apprentice's answer. He was stripping the bed and when he turned his arms were filled with the tangled sheets.

Her shift was hardly becoming, but it was more than acceptable garb for an informal meal. At a thought Ineseu turned in the doorway. "A word of advice."

The apprentice cocked his head warily.

"If I were you, I would not make haste to the rooms of the others. Beauty is well enough, but you will find that a yautja roused from sleep can be an extremely ugly one."

**.X.**

As Ineseu had expected the eating hall stood nearly empty. She took the bowl she was handed and spooned its contents without looking at it. She was finishing a second helping when others who had made the journey back appeared, yawning; like her, in various states of undress. The meal began in silence, but as bellies filled their owners perked up. Workers who had been standing by with little to do, found themselves working doubletime to keep up with newfound appetites. Soon the room hummed with conversation and light-hearted boasting, and Ineseu listened idly to the familiar banter. This was the way it always was. Battle-or simply the promise of battle-put everything on hold. When the dust settled, life went on as before and old interests rekindled.

N'tlad entered the room and looked around for an empty seat. He found one next to Ineseu, and nodded a greeting as he slid beside her. He attacked the platter of grains and meat before him with zeal, but halfway through let his utensil fall and gazed at his clanmate. His libido, sent dormant by war, was reawakening. Suddenly more interesting than food was the female next to him. When Ineseu looked up, he smiled at her.

"You fought well," he said, giving the usual compliment.

"You as well," Ineseu answered reflexively. In truth she had not noticed. It was probably so. N'tlad was no slouch in battle.

"I saw you take that large yautja with the gilded blades. He was very good."

Ineseu grunted, grudgingly impressed. "You did see."

N'tlad looked down the table. "Ledade will mate Re'tn," he said suddenly. Ineseu looked. It was true. Re'tn was turned away from her admirer, but her neck arched prettily towards him. Ineseu was struck by an image so powerful she set her bowl down abruptly. Ledade's hands. Tracing the line of Re'tn's shoulders and her collarbone's sensitive skin-all to tempt her closer to him. If Re'tn seemed willing, Ledade's hands would dare to wander even higher. Her acceptance of his caress on her face would all but assure the act to follow. But suddenly the hands were N'tlad's, and Re'tn's face her own. Ineseu watched the nascent flirtation and something within her stirred in fierce response. N'tlad saw this and moved closer. He did nothing else, said nothing-but Ineseu's thoughts raced for she knew N'tlad's own. It would not be the first time she had acquiesced to N'tlad's courtship. Their last mating had, alas, not ended as he had hoped. But surely he had put that behind him.

She looked at N'tlad and found him regarding her with great intensity. He met her eyes and his expression softened. But then he spoke: "Perhaps she will take him to mate a second cycle."

Ineseu stiffened. The past it seemed, was not that. "Perhaps." She turned away. "It is not my concern."

N'tlad growled softly. "Isn't it?"

Ineseu rounded on him. "No," she growled, and there was an edge of warning in her voice. "I do not have the answer you seek. Speak of this no more!"

N'tlad was immediately concilliatory. "As you wish. I only-"

A din of roars drowned out his words and both looked up in surprise. While they argued, the crowd at the table had increased. Most of the newcomers were of those had stayed behind. Cvanga was squeezed onto the bench between Leint and Sehmtdi, eyes shining.

"What's the excitement?" N'tlad demanded grumpily.

"C'vanga brings news," Sehmt'di informed him, voice almost reverent. Ineseu was not surprised. C'vanga knew all that passed in the furthest reaches of the Clan: the Temple, factories- even the workshops and mines. Only the scouts' doings remained as much a mystery as ever, though C'vanga had once strongly hinted this was due to his self-imposed oath of secrecy.

C'vanga tore at the bit of meat on his plate before answering. "Hunters came this morning-"

"Yes. Two at the pass, we saw them. One high Blooded," N'tlad interrupted. C'vanga looked put out.

"The Blooded dared much by greeting Be'hsira so. I thought Be'hsira would rip him apart!' Leint hooted.

Sehmtdi scoffed. "Lose his temper over one Hunter? Not Be'hsira!"

"Well, what is the news?" Ineseu put in impatiently.

"Urgent business our two Hunters had," C'vanga told her. "A small game planet of their clan's association, seeded some hundreds of years ago for Hard Meat Hunts. Now the Hard Meat's numbers burgeon out of control and they go to cull what they can. Obviously they are anxious that nothing holds up this order. Acid-proof blades I hear."

Despite himself N'tlad was listening. "They told that? I don't believe it!"

"They did not, but I speak truth!" C'vanga insisted. "They guarded their words well enough around the guards who escorted them, but thought nothing of speaking freely before the Master artisan's helper. Hunters forget all who dwell in Keraal are Warrior." C'vanga grinned wickedly. That working yautja were not the lowly servants they were used to was a concept most Hunters had trouble grappling with.

"What was the Blooded like?" Leint asked curiously.

C'vanga shrugged. "Like any other. Arrogant. Pushy."

N'tlad was losing interest again. "Why speak of them then?"

"I agree!" Yaowin chimed in. "We have much pleasanter company besides," He cast what was meant to be a beguiling look at Sehmtdi. She did not seem to notice and his mandibles drooped in disappointment.

"Unpleasant they certainly were. But such interesting news they also let slip..." C'vanga paused for effect. "It seems they are most pleased for the excuse to bow out from attending the Council of Clans."

This time it was Ineseu who prodded C'vanga on. "Council of Clans?"

"The Hunting clans gather by the Council's command in five nights," he explained.

"This is news?" Sehmtdi asked. "The clans convene with the regularity of the sun's rising. They ask the Council's permission to take a -" the vulgar word she added left the table in raucous laughter.

When the laughter had died down C'vanga rapped his palm on the table. "Sehmtdi does not grasp the full import of this," he said, swiveling to look at the other half of the table. His face was suddenly serious, with no trace of his earlier mirth. "This is the first Council at which each clan will be represented. Large and small. Ally and rival. For the time that the Council wishes it they must make peace. For two moons they discuss past and future Hunts, settle disagreements and consider the problems facing each clan."

Yaowin growled now. "Do not be surprised if Keraal is named amongst those so-called problems." He glowered, face darkening. "Mark what I say. To them, our ways are throwbacks; having no more place in this world than spears of wood and flint. They trade willingly enough but the cowards scorn us. Us! Those _animal _hunters." He spat the word with venom.

Leint looked thoughtful. "Arrogant they certainly are. But not cowards. If they hunt it, it is a challenge. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to hunt the Hard Meat?" Yaowin's face was blank but Leint plunged on bravely. "The Hard Meat see without sight. Their tails impale as swiftly as any spear. Their blood is acid-they kill as they die! The Hard Meat Queen is to be feared by the bravest, they say. Cunning, fearless—with an army of warrior children ready to kill and die for her." It was a long speech for Leint and his clanmates listened closely to the end.

"Still an animal!" Yaowin protested.

"The Soft Meat is no mere animal," Sehmtdi pointed out. "Though there are no reliable studies on their intelligence. That is to say, few humans have survived long enough to be observed," she amended to a few snickers.

"What makes the Soft Meat worthy prey?" Ineseu asked.

Sehmtdi seemed baffled. "I do not know," she admitted. "That is perhaps a question only a Hunter can answer."

N'tlad had been silent for long moments, fingers drumming the table in a restless tattoo. He cleared his throat and all eyes turned to him. "No one would accuse me of being peacemaker but for once I will hold my words." Anger flared in his eyes. "I say only this: I do not always agree with the old ones. The universe has changed since first they used _ki-cti-pa._ But to hunt yautja is right. On this-on this they are right. It is _our_ way. Our path to honor."

N'tlad stopped abruptly. For a breath's space all thought of the clanmates who had gone to such honor.

When N'tlad spoke again his voice was low with disgust. "There is no honor in hunting what is itself incapable of the word. Hunt it if you must. Kill it as you please. But do not speak of honor!"

The expressions of the yautja regarding him shifted rapidly between emotions, torn. Leint was right. Animal or not, the Hard Meat was...fascinating. Not a few of them would have minded testing their skills against the dark one. Perhaps even shown the Hunters a thing or two. But the nods around the table were decided. Even Leint was in agreement. To hunt yautja—an equal-was their blood. The gods'reward to those brave and bold enough to seek it. No prey was so worthy; no Hunt so honorable.

Author's Note: Err...still not a romance. I swear!

I have not lost interest in this story. My struggle is finding the time for it.

In chronological order (kind of), my (perpetually) belated thanks to: **Syverasazyn; GrayHuntress; Undividable; Dragonfiz; Teddy-wabbitz; Cricket; Elle's Daisy; Possumpie and Kamil the Awesome **for reading. Your comments have been the red cherry on top. Appreciated and encouraging!

I'm not imaginative enough to have come up with Ineseu's shower on my own. I made up a few details but my description is generally based on real life baths. They're custom built to order and run some tens of thousands of dollars each.


	6. The Little Death

**Note: **Not explicitly so, but sexual situations described ahead.

**.x.**

"Are you going?"

The question was blunt and unexpected. Ineseu looked up, her face knitted in surprise. "Of course not." She frowned. "Why would I?"

Knees drawn to her chest, head against the large bed that occupied most of the central room, Ineseu felt at home. By her elbow was a wood chest that housed a lone medallion; the only escapee from the carnage of jewelry which lay scattered around, as if strewn by some willful child. Ineseu plucked it free and with easy skill flirted the wafer between three knuckled digits. No hard flagstone was her floor but a heavy pile rug, for this was H'sai-di's own chamber and the young Warrior was fond of fine things.

Standing before the bone-backed mirror H'sai-di adjusted the straps of the harness she'd finally chosen. After a quick stop at her room, Ineseu had replaced her shift with a tunic of stiff new leather. H'sai-di's attire was even more ornately so as befitted her ceremonial role. She cast a satisfied glance into the reflective glass and turned a considering one to her friend.

Before the meal was over N'tlad had taken Ineseu aside, if possible more repentant than before. His tactlessness had cost him the female's companionship—and he knew it. He spoke swiftly. There was something he wished her to see. Up in the fields, lying fallow this time of year-would she meet him there? He would make it worth her while, he swore. With no demands on her generosity…

Ineseu had scoffed aloud. Recalling, she scoffed again. How anxious N'tlad was to salvage their old accord. Well, its unraveling had not been her doing; she could scarcely be expected to mourn its end.

Ta'kewe was beginning to fuss. In the unfathomable way of pups he sensed his mother's impending departure, and wanted his displeasure known. Ineseu chirped in answer and presently the pup's head appeared around the bedpost, staring. A necklace dangled from his mouth.

Ineseu had not seen much of the pup recently. Since birth he had remained cloistered in H'sai-di's apartments, but he was fast coming to an age where he no longer depended on his mother's care. It seemed the pup was curious about her as well. He came to her and sat on his haunches, staring from the closer distance. What traits H'sai-di had passed to her first born was impossible to tell. From Ta'kewe's darker coloring to his solemn disposition he was Be'hsira's miniature.

But he was a pup in whole, and before long his attentions turned to something even more interesting than this new playmate—her short knife, in its sheath on her hip. With a grimace Ineseu pried the hot hands away; to keep peace, she offered a toy from the floor. The bribe was met with vehemence and Ineseu eyed it, surprised. Its bold colors would never have adorned the weapon on which it was modeled, but otherwise it was a remarkably faithful replica.

Ta'kewe was not fooled. He wanted the shiny sharp toy and whimpering he made a grab.

Instinctively Ineseu caught the offending hand. "No Ta'kewe. Leave it alone."

The pup stilled, shocked. His eyes grew large and Ineseu let go. Stubbornly he reached, to be thwarted again.

This time Ineseu squeezed. "_No_."

Two brown eyes met hers, ablaze with fury. Ta'kewe's tusks clacked together restlessly. He squealed, a high-pitched protest that made Ineseu wince. He looked around wildly for his mother. Her hand was paused mid-air, she watched, but shook her head

By now the pup was full in a small rage. He wriggled, squirmed-the clacking increased. He clawed at her hand and Ineseu squeezed in fresh warning.

Abruptly there came a check in the pup's fury. He seemed to be deliberating and Ineseu waited to see the result. It came soon. His body sagged and his tusks drew into themselves. He seemed to have indeed arrived at a decision and Ineseu released him for the second time. Keeping an eye on the pup she resecured the weapon; Ta'kewe watched but made no move.

H'sai-di knelt beside them and the pup abandoned Ineseu for his mother's lap. She swung him near, arm crooked around his upper body. She bent, words muffling into his skin. "The world is not yours simply because you demand it, little one."

H'sai-di looked up. "It grows harder to teach him, but he must learn. Those silly females give him anything he wants." Her voice was threaded with exasperation.

"They think to please you." Ineseu had a certain sympathy for the four Warriors whose children, Be'hsira's offspring, would grow alongside the heir-to-be. But their mothers paid the price in H'sai-di's perfect domination.

H'sai-di shrugged. "They would do better to please themselves. When I have the fancy to crack some heads I won't remember a pup's whim." She paused. "Speaking of which, what exactly _do _you plan to do about N'tlad?"

"Do about him?" Ineseu repeated blankly.

H'sai-di grinned wide. "Am I the one grown rusty or are you? What a question!"

"My mind has never changed. N'tlad wants pups. I do not. I've made no secret of that," Ineseu said with a scowl.

"You should hope so. He won't be the only one disappointed. I've thought for a while Yaowin means to court you. N'tlad isn't one to give up easily either."

"If he holds out hope after today he is a fool," Ineseu said dismissively, slumping back against the bed.

H'sai-di had not come down to eat but had heard all from C'vanga. She nodded. "Poor N'tlad."

Ineseu's brow shot up. "Poor _N'tlad_? Unlikely but do explain."

"I will if you stop glaring at me like that," H'sai-di muttered. "I have not seen so foul an expression since El'cte spoke at council.

Ineseu straightened. "All right," she said grudgingly. "I'm listening."

H'sai-di's eyes slit in contentment. Ineseu's temper could be swift to rise-but would also be equally swift to subside. Just as well, she thought, for hers was fearsome. She flexed her fingers, talons curving meaningfully. They were formidable weapons. "It is not so simple for males to have the offspring they want. They rely on our indulgence." She offered Ineseu an enigmatic smile. "And we can be so cruel without meaning to."

Ineseu digested this. "You believe I should reconsider?"

H'sai-di spread palms wide, a noncommittal gesture that she took no sides, only wished to be heard. "I do not. Only consider that this is a problem you will run into again. Males can crave pups as we do." She glanced at Ta'kewe. "Some even more."

This was true. Many males were perfectly satisfied with the mating act. If the female desired _kalei-dtat_—the repeated copulation necessary to induce ovulation-well, all the better.

But then there were those who set themselves with tireless dedication to the business of spawning their legacy. Tentatively at first, then with increasing insistence, N'tlad had pressed his request. And each time Ineseu had flatly refused. Four or five matings over the span of a cycle would get most females with pup-fewer if either party was especially fertile-and Ineseu adhered rigidly to a broader time-frame. Throughout N'tlad remained unfailingly courteous, but their encounters had grown increasingly marked by friction.

Ineseu said sullenly: "I do not want N'tlad's seed. Nor anyone else's. N'tlad has sired sucklings before. He will sire more before many cycles have passed. One pup less won't make a difference."

H'sai-di gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing. Ineseu could not understand of course; in this one matter they were separated by a gulf of experience. No pup could replace another. Could any have replaced Ta'kewe, the heir born, in Be'hsira's eyes? H'sai-di snorted.

"I wonder that N'tlad has not given you up. No offence," she added, noticing Ineseu's expression sour. "It would only be natural. He's one of the most promising Warriors of our years. If you were so inclined you could not find a better sire-save Be'hsira of course."

"Be'hsira does not notice me," Ineseu said at once, not at all sorry. Too many pitfalls accompanied that particular coup. "I am one of a hundred of our sisters. Any of whom would give the jewel of her trophy wall to have Be'hsira's seed."

H'sai-di could not deny it. "True." She clicked. "Be'hsira's time is so spare, even more so these days, but I could arrange a private meeting if you wish."

Despite her aversion, Ineseu was moved. It was a generous offer by H'sai-di, who already had so many aspirants for her title. As a usual matter females had first and last say in mating, but the Leader was after all, the Leader. There would always be fierce competition to enter his close circle, and an ambitious Warrior might understandably desire power. For her son, daughter, or herself as an alpha.

Ineseu shook her head now. "Join the ranks of those poor females you terrorize? I'd rather skin a Hunter's kill."

"Thanks old friend." H'sai-di grimaced. "That does not hurt. Not even a little." There came a knock on the door, followed by a polite cough. H'sai-di nudged a half drowsing Ta'kewe from her and stood. "I have to go. Duty waits. The council not at all patiently I fear." She grinned and leaned down. "If you do go to him, be prepared to tell all tonight."

Blinking back sleep, the pup awakened fully as his mother vanished. The escorting guard followed hard on her heels and a nurse clad in brown entered briskly to find her young charge. Finding Ineseu there, she retreated to the outer room. There came the sound of a claw tapping repetitively, as on a view-screen, and Ineseu surmised the nurse was making good use of her unexpected free time.

A small palm patted Ineseu's cheek; she looked down to find Ta'kewe uncurled and staring. She clicked to him. "A truce then." With a finger she traced one thin mandible. "So serious. Do you ever laugh little one?"

Ta'kewe broke off the stare and crawled to the glass where his mother had stood. He sniffed the air for a few moments before leaving off to sit near to play. The game consisted solely of banging the unfortunate toy against the floor but Ta'kewe seemed enthralled.

Ineseu watched the pup, thinking long.

**.x.**

They turned on the lights and threw the coverings aside. Without having to be told they split into teams of two; four altogether. They were not in a hurry. Apprentices to the master healer all, their task did not technically call for medical learning. Yet care of the dead was an offshoot of the healer's calling and they were proud, for was it not for Cetanu that they toiled?They even traded light-hearted jabs as they worked, but not very loudly, for the grizzled yautja watching below the observation deck was their master's former student, himself a healer and their elder. They obeyed him as they would that venerable ancient. At the moment he leaned against a white pillar, shivering_. _

They stripped the cadavers down and wrestled them into clean garments chosen for the purpose. That done, they turned to the lighter duties of adorning them for the final rites. Beside each slab they brought in a rolling table, bearing possessions most cherished by the dead in their lifetimes. From these they chose and arranged according to the deceased's imagined taste. A valued skull here. A favorite weapon or ornament there.

The healer left the pillar and moved among the slabs, hands clasped behind his back; equal in his attentions though their occupants were beyond such base cares. He repressed another shiver. Automated controls kept this particular room too cold for his liking. It was necessary of course, to preserve the integrity of the equipment maintained there, but he muttered an oath under his breath.

Once he had known real cold; one of three Warriors summoned to a yellow planet orbiting a dying sun. For seven cycles he and his brothers had stalked and slain the three Bad Bloods who had made the lonely rock their last stand. So he was too proud to don thermal netting as the apprentices wore. He watched them scurry about, warm in their work and silently damned pride.

Final inspection was his privilege and he dismissed the eight apprentices with a wave of his hand. They departed, nodding respectful farewells to his back.

At the second slab he stopped and made a sound of displeasure. With his thumb he sealed one of the paper-dry eyelids closed. That had been careless. He touched the cadaver's shoulder briefly in apology and moved on.

The last was female; lean and powerful even in her middle years. How she had met her end was plain enough: a deep hole punched through her throat exposed ivory spine. As was their way, the wound's exterior had been cleaned but otherwise left alone. Death must have come to this one swiftly. Her skin was blanched as only swift blood loss can do. Yet in death, her features were composed and serene. Recalling the spirited beauties that had dazzled his youth, the healer wondered if this serenity had been hers in life.

He cherished the secret pride of being the last to handle the deceased, before the ritual of mourning erased their individuality. Even those who would grieve most deeply, in their selfish hearts grieved their own loss-of a friend, parent, or lover perhaps. _He_ mourned the empty husk given into his hands; vulnerable and exposed when no Warrior cared to be so in life.

Finished, he scratched his side. He was hungry, but looked forward to the night's meal for more complicated reasons. He collected his instrument kit, turned to go, and halted. There was something he should say he felt, and for a moment he struggled to find the right words.

Ah. Yes.

"Good journey," he said, and with a final shiver was gone.

**.x.**

N'tlad was waiting as promised. He pushed off his boulder perch when he saw her, landing easily on the ground. Shoulders set high conveyed his anxiety, but when he cocked his head she read the faint relief in his eyes. He, also, had not known that she would come.

"Sister," he greeted, extending a hand.

Ineseu stopped out of reach and eyed him. He saw she would come no closer and his hand fell to his side. For a few moments they regarded each other in silence. N'tlad was attired in a dark brown tunic with metal fastenings much as she was-save for the insignia at his breast denoting his exclusive attachment to the Temple. A thin line of blood trickled from his scalp onto his forehead; he wiped it away with the edge of his hand.

Ineseu cocked her head. "Previous engagement?"

"Among other things," he affirmed.

Against her will Ineseu's breathing slits flared, unconsciously processing the aroma that clung to him. Whoever the female was, she had been very satisfied with the encounter indeed.

N'tlad saw and was gratified. She would not have come, would not examine him so closely if she had no interest.

Ineseu shook her head at his hopeful look. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I hoped to mend an old acquaintance," N'tlad raised his hands and met her disbelief squarely. "I meant what I said. No demands." He fell to coaxing. "Won't you say you've forgiven me? You wounded my pride and I've wounded yours. You're not angry any more. I can see that."

"And if I'm not? Perhaps I do not anger because I have lost interest," Ineseu hinted darkly.

N'tlad said stubbornly, "You have not. Why would you come then?"

"I-" Ineseu paused. How many times had she asked that question herself? She had left her flyer behind; walking and running were no hardship, and the fields were not far. She had had much time to think, but was no closer to an answer. Desire for the male was an easy enough explanation. Easier than voicing the seed of doubt H'sai-di had planted…

She shrugged finally. "I'm not fond of hostile partings. But if you know I'm no longer angry then you must know why I've come."

N'tlad grunted softly. "To mate of course." He folded his arms and grinned, confident of success. "I've made you angry today but all in all, the years have been good wouldn't you say?" His eyes gleamed like sparks in the purple dusk. "If you've forgotten how good we can be together….how good I can be to you..." his voice lowered, "it will be my great pleasure to remind you."

Ineseu's laugh was short. "Ha! It might have been. Already you are about it the wrong way."

N'tlad snapped to attention. "Wrong way? What do you mean?"

"I'm here for one," She observed him with half shut eyes. "Yet you still stand over there."

N'tlad moved to her with an appreciative snarl. Lightning-quick, her hand shot out to stop him by the throat. N'tlad cocked his head in inquiry.

Ineseu's breath blew warm when she spoke. "What of the _kalei-dtat_?"

"Not important," he purred, stroking the hand for good measure. Ineseu smirked at him. She moved closer, her hand falling to cup his groin. N'tlad gasped. "Just…you…" he managed.

He followed her meekly to the ground; he was inside her almost before her legs could part. Wrapped into, around each other, they strained for release in a tangle of limbs and clothing shoved roughly aside_._

Lovers like Le'dade and Re'tn could court tenderly as they pleased, Ineseu thought, as N'tlad's jagged groans mixed with her own. The affection that was sometimes born of carnal desire was a terrible affliction, and she would not permit herself to be so hobbled. Loyalty was enough. It was all she asked and offered.

N'tlad drove into the female's flesh, again and again. This was his reward-for surviving the hard battle and grim journey home. Ineseu urged him on with the bucking of her hips to make it clear it was her reward as well. Having the same goal, they shared without words for none were needed. She was close, and so was N'tlad. He shuddered and lowered his forehead to brush hers, before instinctively separating from her.

Neither made an effort to rise. By the time N'tlad rolled back, a memory had resurfaced in Ineseu's mind. She stood and crouched, knees bent, and rocked from one foot to another. Her arms spread wide in invitation. Wrestling was a lovers' game and grumbling good-naturedly, N'tlad rose.

As if they had not, moments before, left off one of the oldest acts known to yautja-kind, each studied the carriage and fluidity of the other as if for the first time.

N'tlad was the first to move, lunging to pin her arms and win her admiration, but Ineseu leaped away, grinning into his face. He tried again. The third time she met him, twisting to grapple him into her own hold. It was a deadlock, and they broke apart to circle again.

Ineseu slammed N'tlad to the ground with a swing of her arm. The impact caused tiny pebbles to rattle loose from their bed. She couldn't hold him and sprang away. Brushing himself off N'tlad came again. They were almost evenly matched and only with brute force did he finally force her to a knee. He had the edge when it came to upper body strength, but Ineseu had her own tricks.

She strove against that powerful hold; N'tlad doubled the pressure. Suddenly she gave up all resistance. The momentum sent them both toppling. Ineseu landed on her back-hard-but the opening was there; the flat of her foot shot into N'tlad's sternum, and he sailed over and behind.

The wind knocked out of him, N'tlad lay breathing hard, once more covered in dust from head to foot. Yet he was on her before she could spring away. His knee found its way between her legs, trying to nudge them apart. Ineseu's claws raked his arms; her thighs strained to bar his way. Both grunted, enjoying the friendly challenge. It was not every day that the pleasure of mating went hand in hand with the pleasure of a good bout.

Despite all Ineseu could do, N'tlad slipped past, grinding his knee hard into her center. Her cry of pleasure drowned out his triumphant one.

Even without a clear victor, the match was over. The thrill of combat had fast devolved into fresh hunger to mate. N'tlad continued to nudge experimentally. When she began matching him nudge for nudge, he lifted up and guided himself into her. His grunts mingled with hers as they worked to new release

She reached it first. "Not yet," N'tlad hissed, reaching down to smother the growing cry. Two rows of sharp teeth leered at him and he drew his hand back hastily. Almost in the same instant he finished, and they separated, panting and looking on the world with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You've been holding back on me," N'tlad commented. He winced as he picked a piece of gravel from his backside. "It's never been like this before."

Ineseu flicked a small rock at him; he caught it with a fluid snap of wrist. He spoke. "You will meet me tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow? Perhaps….no. Too soon," Ineseu said almost to herself.

N'tlad nodded. "As you wish. He stretched out where they lay, arms crossed beneath his head. "What a night to be alive."

It was only dusk, though the sky was lit by two silver moons. She didn't correct him. "I'm…" she paused, "thankful you brought me here. False pretences and all."

In truth she had known from the start, but N'tlad had the grace to look ashamed. "Not entirely false. I _did_ have something to show you." He got to his feet and went to the outcropping of boulders on which he had waited for her. One smooth leap placed him atop the largest. "Here, have a look."

He moved aside for her to crouch beside him. Ineseu looked into the low, gray fields and shook her head. "I don't see anything." N'tlad pointed and she followed the line of his arm. Ahead was the crematorium, solid and hulking, its base encircled by soft spotlights. As became a blood tribute to dark Cetanu, the upper mass of the building itself was shrouded in darkness. "The crematorium," N'tlad supplied. "So ordinary, no one sees it."

"The crematorium…" She was still puzzled.

"I'd thought, foolishly, that seeing it could change your mind." He pulled his legs out in front of him and settled into the rock.

Ineseu looked from the fields to N'tlad's dark profile. "How?"

N'tlad said softly, "No, perhaps you don't know." He was gazing down on the shallow bowl of land. "I sired Pe'dand's pup," he said, naming one of the dead Warriors. "He'll be raised well I think. She wasn't one of us." Ineseu knew at once what he meant: Pe'dand's blood kin lived still. "Her sister has asked for him, otherwise I would claim him myself."

He seemed to be waiting for her to say something. "A shame," she murmured.

"Yes. A shame," N'tlad echoed. "It occurred to me today….as we ate…how easily her end could have been yours." He linked his fingers over one knee and looked at her.

Only with effort did Ineseu keep a sneer from her voice. "You speak as if I should fear death." A disquieting thought struck her. "Do you?"

"You misunderstand me," N'tlad inclined his head. "Death is a gift from All Mighty Paya as surely as is life. I do not fear death but I respect its divine pronouncement. Our lives are ephemeral. I do not pretend otherwise. "

Ineseu was quiet. "Those are the words of one welcoming Cetanu" she said at last. "I am not sure I like them."

N'tlad shrugged. "Time strides on whether we wish it or not. We keep pace or are dragged along. We perish either way. Put off rearing your pup; it is your choice. It always has been. I have put it out of my mind."

Ineseu turned this over. Her reluctance to breed had never sat well with N'tlad; she understood that he had just come as close as he would to accusation. Yet this night he offered something else: acceptance.

Absolved, Ineseu could almost pity the male's need. Like Ta'kewe, reaching for something more dangerous than himself. Something she could not-would not-give. In her mind, she weighed the strangeness of a suckling.

_It is no blame on me that I will not give—this, _she thought_. He offers himself freely. He will have his legacy at any rate_

Talking had put N'tlad in a gentle mood. One hand rose to brush across her cheek. The other fell to her midsection and Ineseu stiffened.

"Have you no liking still for a Hard Meat hunt?" she asked abruptly.

N'tlad patted the flat expanse of stomach absently, and released a breath. "No, and I never will. To Kill, breed, and die with honor is the Path."

"Yes," Ineseu said. And understood.

N'tlad would never cease yearning for the pup that could be. In his mind's eye his seed still grew. That unconscious caress had betrayed him deeply, for she could not help but see it for what it was. As he would if he opened his eyes-a paternal tenderness for the pup not yet conceived.

N'tlad would seek again. Perhaps not soon; perhaps not even aloud. His resolve to let her alone was real-Ineseu believed that-but with time he would be unable to help himself. It was not in him. As he had said, it was the Path.

_Is there only one?_

As she thought this N'tlad stood, clutching himself. He left their high perch and went out of the fields. It was not embarrassment but sanitary concerns that made him reluctant to relieve himself in that place. Once the soil came into fertility the spiny plants that overgrew it would be leveled, and the land rotated into food production.

Night fell. The moons slid behind a mass of clouds and Ineseu remained in quiet thought. This was the end, as she had foreseen it. But an end not quite as she had expected. It was only natural that it must, but she could not help feeling cheated.

_This is what I must do after all, to set things right. N'tlad-we will never be this close again_

She dropped to the ground. She looked back at the pinpoints of light that blanketed the City and a dread rose in her. She was not eager to face H'sai-di's barrage of questions but neither could she bear to linger there any longer. She thought of Pe'dand and turned to plunge into the dark fields.

N'tlad called out-she heard the tail end of his cry. The dried stalks closed overhead and she was lost beneath their canopy.

**.x.**

She came out on the far side of the fields, picking off burrs and bits of green that had fastened on the way. She raised her eyes and a stubborn look crossed her face.

She was standing before the crematorium.

She went to it and placed a palm against the wall, fast cooling as the sun's heat seeped into night. They had played here. She, H'sai-di and the other children of the Temple.

Daring each other as they were accustomed to do. First, to touch the sacred wall. Later-to climb the carved steps to the chamber in which the clergy gathered to…to…and here imagination would fail, for none ever had been bold enough to mount foot. To do so would have required no less than foolhardiness, for the eyes of the adults were everywhere, and so were their disciplining claws. And if they did not respect the threat of punishment, they whispered amongst themselves about the sanctity of this place; Cetanu's own.

They wondered what took place behind the walls drawn shut for secrecy. Only after the clergy had gone in and given the word, would the walls open and the clan gather. And this was the part they liked most of all.

Head tilted, Ineseu remembered with a brief lift of mandibles. How wondrous the world had seemed then. She looked at the stairs; she never had ventured up. The compulsion to conquer them now flitted suddenly through her mind and she sucked in a sharp breath. Did she dare? She glanced around; there was no one in sight. No one would know. But she would.

To view the dead before rites was not actually forbidden. But once removed to this sacred place only the clergy had business with them. Ineseu bit the inside of her cheek. If she was discovered she risked the indignity of a reprimand even a pup would chafe to receive...

Ineseu set her jaw. "No pup am I," she muttered.

The ramp led into a spacious area, enclosed all around by paneled walls. Four pillars set at adjacent angles supported the flat roof. The room was ill-lit by two torchlights left burning in their brackets, and Ineseu stepped in and clear of the entrance. Her sense of accomplishment was fleeting, for at the sight of the pyres ranged around she sobered. Save for ceremonial last rites it was the yautja way to mourn privately, and alone, Ineseu felt a first twinge of sorrow.

At the lower end of the room a folded frame screened off a corner. Tucked behind Ineseu found levels of shelving stuffed with miscellanea; incense-burners, geometric bowls of pungent resin and gilt figurines. She picked up a jewel-colored jar, its liquids long evaporated and sniffed. C'ntlip. Of course.

She set the jar back and dropped her head into her hands.

She had come seeking a salve; restlessness alone had bestirred her to this place. Yet there was no respite to be had. Even in braving the giant of her puphood she was disappointed, for nothing of the sacred or grandiose lingered about it.

The footsteps when they came were an intrusion. Ineseu lifted her head, startled-then was irritated. N'tlad had followed?

Between the gap in the screen panels, she saw the visitor enter and pause in the doorway, a tall, proudly held figure. It was not N'tlad. She saw this at once. All the same she stifled a surprised growl when the visitor stepped through and a shaft of moonlight fell across his face.

Be'hsira!

It was with no small sense of guilt that Ineseu froze.

Be'hsira shut the door behind and looked around with a mild air of curiosity. From this Ineseu understood that this place was foreign to him as well. By a stroke of fortune the dividing screen concealed her well. But to hide in shadow was the way of thieves and spies and she was neither. She hesitated, undecided. Strictly speaking Be'hsira had as questionable a right to enter. Leader he was, but not one of the ordained. Yet as Leader a blind eye might be turned to his flouting of custom.

Plainly it had not occurred to Be'hsira that he would not be the only surreptitious visitor that night. He seemed to have some goal in mind, for he cast a quick eye over the room and went to the second pyre on which lay Le'kdi in her funereal finery. He fumbled within the folds of his garments, and drew out something small and slender.

Be'hsira's back was to Ineseu. He stooped over Le'kdi and when he straightened his hand was empty.

Laying a hand on Le'kdi's own, Be'hsira bowed his head. Ineseu saw the Leader's sorrow and repented her impiety. To have witnessed it without his knowing was not right. Gritting her teeth, she prepared to face his displeasure.

"Saliyas…forgive me."

Ineseu jerked where she stood. _Saliyas!_

"The wrong you did-it was by my will….." Be'hsira seemed to hesitate. "My will and mine alone."

All thought of revealing herself vanished, Ineseu cowered dumb under the magnitude of the Leader's words.

"I have not forgotten my debt sister"-Be'hsira's voice…quiet, sad-"Would to Paya I had repaid it in this life. "But," this with a snarl, "Cetanu be willing, I will repay it in the next."

Be'hsira opened his mouth as if to say more, but closed it again. He sighed and shook his head, then pulling his cloak tight to him was gone, leaving a room of death and a grim-faced listener.

It was long moments before Ineseu left the shelter of the screen. She stared at the closed door—then down at Le'kdi.

_A debt,_ Be'hsira had said. But what debt could Be'hsira, the Leader of a thousand owe? And to Le'kdi. A Warrior of no remarkable reputation.

"It's none of my concern," Ineseu muttered, shaking her head. "I should not have heard." But she had, and could not forget. Her breath caught then; she had almost forgotten. What had Be'hsira slipped onto the corpse?

"One look,_" _she thought at last. "One look. I have already broken so many rules this night. What is one more? There is more here than meets the eye, that is certain. Saliyas would keep me at arm's length, but if this is hurt to him I must know!"

So determined she went to the corpse. Le'kdi's arms were folded across her chest, fingertips resting lightly on each shoulder. Under the circumstances the Warrior's repose seemed defensive. Whatever her secrets, she guarded them still. Trying not to disturb the body more than was necessary, Ineseu ran her hand beneath the folded arms. She felt and drew out a tarnished blade.

"A trophy?" Ineseu brought the find closer; her jaw tightened until it hurt. There _was_ dishonor at the root of this night-time mystery. Whose dishonor she feared to know…

Uneasy in mind, she examined the tang. The grooves seemed to glow and her hand stilled.

That writing. Three characters; two leaning against each other in rude pyramid form. The third standing proudly separate. Etched with a hand none too steady but perfectly legible.

The sigil of the clan once her people's dread foe-and the date of the trophy's taking. The Clan was rarely spoken of without a malevolent glare and glob of spittle hawked aside, and in her mind this was how Ineseu thought of it.

A trophy of that notorious battle would be a valued prize, displayed with fierce pride at the least opportunity. Yet this one bore every imaginable mark of corrosion as if thrust deep into some hidden place, intended to never see the light of day.

So. A trophy-neglected. Never polished, never cherished, and Ineseu's confusion increased manifold.

How had it come into Be'hsira's possession? The war had been fought almost before their time. A gift then? Ineseu thought not. Weapons were tokens of valor. It would be unseemly for a Warrior to bestow such a valuable one on the child Be'hsira would have been. Later on the Leader would have had no need of such tokens.

It made no sense. None of it. Ineseu's mind leapt from one possibility to another, in the end wearying of them all. But as she stood, puzzled, something was sinking in.

A short dagger of a high-alloy metal; its diluted properties made it unsuited for heavy battle. Smaller hands were intended for this weapon. Hands that had not yet the strength or skill to wield an adult's. So slender her fingers had unthinkingly overwrapped the grip.

"_Paya_!" Ineseu breathed in dismay-and flung the murderer's trophy away in disgust.

It skittered from her, nicking one of the walls where it struck. Ineseu ground her tainted hand into her side. The rust left streaks like blood in dirt. She was still staring at the blade in horror. Nothing could have brought her to take it up.

Kills were yautja capable of fighting back. Never could she have imagined such a contemptible act…

The dagger was a child's.


	7. Burning

**X**

The air tasted foul.

Her stomach heaved unexpectedly; a wave of bile rose in the back of her throat. Mindful of the caustic warning she moved quickly to the door. It was a visceral reaction to the crime. Murder was disgraceful; the blood letting of a pup would have brought even the most hardened Warrior to his knees in shame. Had she lost the battle she would not have been ashamed, but she gagged on empty air at the foot of the steps until the urge was gone. She coughed to be sure, and spat.

Cold assessment had never been her strength- as Saliyas had once too bluntly lamented -but now thought itself was crippled, severed in the instant she had looked into the heart of her clan and found it blighted.

The Leader was without honor.

Ineseu's mind reeled. She reached for the steps and sat down abruptly. Only a deviant would kill a child and treat it as sport. The rage she felt then took her breath away. It was an unforgivable waste, and an unspeakable act of cowardice.

In the clan there was no place for such a one.

She turned to look back up the steps and it seemed to her that the building had fallen silent, waiting.

As if in answer sonorous voices came on the wind. Millennia of erosion had shaped the land here into an upturned bowl. One could come to its rim without marking the change, but would be presented with a gentle decline to the basin floor. Rock-strewn trails offered descent and along one of these the clergy were arriving, ringing bells and chanting proverbs in supplication to the Dark Warrior. Coming to her feet, Ineseu made a swift decision. There was no time to wonder if it was the right one- less time yet to return to the chamber without being discovered. If the holy ones were already here, the others would not be long behind. The door was ajar as when she had arrived, so that was alright. More worrisome was the dagger somewhere on the floor inside. She took a gulp and the night air filtered sweet into her lungs.

She was on her knees at the foot of the great steps, head bent in seeming prayer when they arrived, to any eyes the most devoted of mourners. The holy ones skirted her without a check in their pace and inwardly Ineseu marveled. Where had she learnt such guile? The last embroidered robe passed her field of vision and she risked a glance upwards.

The Holiest of the holy ones, a fine figure in heavy gray and blue robes had ascended the stairs but paused in the entrance. She half-turned, as though perhaps to look down on the kneeling figure below, but after a moment went on. Her helpers filing behind pulled the door closed. One took up guard outside.

The first flyers arrived, rearing out suddenly on the night's wings. Several paces behind and below a dozen Warriors followed on foot; some bearing tools over shoulders and clad in whatever garments they had happened to throw on that day. They made a straight course for the best places close to the steps. Only a few spared a curious glance for the figure already kneeling motionless there. There was an agitated air about her hunched shoulders, but given the occasion they did not think this out of the ordinary. Her grief was palpable and when she looked up at last, they motioned her to take up vigil with them.

Ineseu shook her head and backed away. Her gaze darted to the crowd beginning to straggle in, then again to the sealed chamber, and they wondered who or what she sought. The bowels of the City had opened onto the dusty basin; the throng encircled the building entirely.

She was torn between flight and her duty to stay. The sky was a silent sheet of black; the vexing conundrum of motherhood seemed as distant now as the stars. The intricacy of clan politics was not something most yautja concerned themselves with, but Ineseu had been privy to enough of what passed in the _ke'hda _to know what grave wheels would be set in motion. Incertitude of the Leader's honor would necessarily shake the clan to its core. In the best circumstances, there would be an inquest. Uncomfortable, hard questions would be asked and there could be no happy outcome. Whether the pronouncement was innocence or guilt someone would pay the price, for one absolved of crime had the right to challenge his accuser. In the worst circumstances- Ineseu hesitated.

The accusation would please no one; Be'hsira was as beloved as one who is feared can be. Ineseu frowned. Be'hsira had been one of the pups tearing around the City on those sun-warm days, before Leadership had drawn the first of several bright lines in their uncertain adolescence. Her thoughts went to H'sai-di and little Ta'ke'we and sombered. No, she would find no joy in the deed.

Ordinarily she would have turned the knowledge over to Saliyas with no little relief- let him be the one to take it before the humorless grayheads who overran the council. But her mind swarmed with grudging suspicion. She wanted to give the gruff warrior the benefit of the doubt; the word of a murderer was after all not a stronghold of truth. But willing or no, Saliyas' name had been uttered over Le'kdi's dead body and he was entangled in this nasty business somehow.

There was a good deal of jostling down in the rows, but much of it was light-hearted and none was for a view as there were spots and many to spare. The elder Warriors ignored or pretended to ignore the rough play around them, eyes slitted and arms folded in stoic meditation. Familiar faces separated themselves in the crowd- Yaowin, Va'te-vir -and joined her on the sidelines. N'tlad was nowhere in sight and for that Ineseu was grateful. The crowd was still growing, and so was the atmosphere of anticipation.

At last the doors were thrown open, the walls brought down and with them a new stir. H'sai-di was ensconced on the newly open space, dancing on the balls of her feet. Across the platform Be'hsira tested the weight of his spear. Ineseu started for she had not seen them enter.

Presently a light appeared from the girders and began to rove the elevated arena. Once or twice it found inconspicuous figures lingering on the periphery. These drew away, behind pillars, always into the darkness. The disc of light centered and dilated. Be'hsira and H'said-di came to their marks, crouched, and the impatient rustling fell away. A drum started up somewhere- then another. The percussion rolled and roared; the hollowed bones sang with a voice of defiance.

The two Warriors rose, and as they did name and title fell away like discarded skins. They were base creatures not yet having the science of flight, but they were armored like gods. They bore old-fashioned shields of forged metal near yautja-high. Their simple weapons were handled of fire-hardened wood. Interweaving the circular platform, somehow contriving to avoid the path of the other, they pantomimed the acts of life that were recognizable to all: hunting, Killing, eating. They cast uneasy glances around, always wary. Once, Be'hsira discovered an enemy and brought the invisible one to the ground with a spear thrust into the chest.

It was a dusty night, and there were restrained coughs from the crowd. Still all eyes were fastened onto the stage. Be'hsira squatted, legs spreading from his armor skirt. He brandished the spear at H'sai-di and wiped imaginary blood on his sleeve.

"Really into the role isn't he?" Yaowin whispered. To this Ineseu only looked grim though Yaowin could not see.

Be'hsira's helmet covered his skull and the outer planes of his face, but left his visage exposed to view. The muscles of his instep arched to keep solid footing. He spotted H'sai-di, and at his guttural howl she spun. Answering in kind, she advanced with exaggerated gestures of hostility. Be'hsira's mandibles flared in pretended aggression and H'sai-di's scream was convincing enough to make Yaowin suck in his breath appreciatively. This was how it had been in the Beginning. Before yautja pursued the gods' favor, Killing and hunting alone, ignorant of clan. Males and females bedded in mistrust, one hand on a weapon that never left their side. Females birthed their young in secret places and slew any who came near.

The dance of life was beautiful and minutely choreographed, and when its climax shuddered full, a knife pressed beneath Be'hsira's chin. His spear was outthrust to ward off H'sai-di's blow; she leaned serenely on its tip. The dance had been performed many times, even so Ineseu was moved by its poignancy. Be'hsira's face was within a hand-span of his favored mate's. Both had grown still. One could imagine they no longer inhabited their bodies, but breathed life as two poised on the threshold of a renaissant age.

Then...the Enlightenment.

H'sai-di's blade ascended to hover at Be'hsira's brow. He did not move, his permission of the lethal proximity proof of his trust. Carefully she mimed the carving of sigil. Letting his spear fall, Be'hsira swung his knife from neck sheath to hand, and repeated the motion. They had entirely ceased to be; they were the fore-bearers of the first of the great Clans, the seed from which civilization had germinated to spread order on a wild planet.

The ancients were not long destined for peace. The shadows around sprang to life. Enemies descended with great war whoops. Picking up their shields, the Warriors swung around to do battle.

This time they came together- back against broad back, facing the attack on all sides.

A sigh of satisfaction rippled through those watching for without question they were the brother and sister Warriors incarnate. Ineseu's stomach clenched in recognition. She wondered if the young apprentice watched also with fascinated eyes from some vantage spot. Shield affixed to her left arm, H'sai-di was shielding Be'hsira's right from attack on her front. His defense would do the same. Even circling tight, an enemy would find this barrier formidable.

Fighting thus, Be'hsira and H'sai-di proved unbeatable and one after the other the attackers receded into the shadows. Victory was assured and the seed of the young clan ripened in the female. Gripping her staff she sank to one knee, face contorted in silent pain. The newborn emerged and she reached down to tear it from its natal cord. Not a sound was uttered as the first clan mother's hands cupped and lifted the new life aloft for all to see.

_We live. We fight. The fight is not over._

The Holy One stepped forward in a cloud of swirling incense, her right hand obscured by a plume of flame. She gave but a brief glance at the suckling and circled the pyres, tracing the Warrior's mark on each stiffened face. She touched hers to acknowledge the link then shouting Cetanu's praise, set the pyres ablaze with the tip of the burning brand. For as long as the flames burned, the more against loud mourning was lifted. Groans tore from the deceased's blood kin gathered at the steps. The flames leaped high, licking and feeding on flesh and the clergy covered their mouths against the smell.

"Farewell sisters...brothers. It was a worthy end," someone murmured nearby.

Ineseu knew the voice and turned. "Da'tkre?"

There was a pause then Da'tkre came, shouldering past a large yautja whose head was bowed.

"None other." Da'tkre's voice was slightly slurred. The girth of his arm was padded thick with a medicated patch, but Ineseu's attention went to the leg that stuck out awkwardly, propped from the ground by anti-gravity bands. Da'tkre had regained mobility it seemed, but when he came to a stop appeared relieved to lean his weight on the other side.

"I did not expect to see you here," Ineseu said with a raised brow. Surely it was too soon.

Da'tkre looked around. Va'te-vir and Yaowin had moved down, closer to the front and he hissed low. "Do not give me away! That old healer is around somewhere. I'm to return to bed-rest before the ashes cool, so he says, but the leg is better already. I won't miss the gathering if I can help it."

"Even at the risk of your leg," Ineseu said wryly. The smell of antiseptic was fresh on Da'tkre. She could not imagine what entreatments had softened the healer.

"Ah, I've long wanted to see the training ring from another perspective. I wager I could teach the little ones a thing or two, even now. I've been thinking there are worse things," Da'tkre whispered back.

"Yes," she said quietly. She looked at the arena and her eyes hardened. Be'hsira was helping H'sai-di from the last pieces of her armor. He handed the chest plate to her and gently bent his head to hers. "There are."

**X**

Between sips of the mulled intoxicant, Ineseu eyed the head table. Fourteen yautja sat on either side of the Leader's chair: members of Council and Be'hsira's closest advisors. Gare'nu stood over Be'hsira, ostensibly to draw his attention to the tablet she had placed before him, but her eyes communicated a separate intent. Saliyas looked across and Ineseu sank her face glumly into her goblet. Had treachery been the reason for that shared glance in the _ke'hda_? Unexpectedly, envy stabbed in her chest. She let the irrational emotion bloom, and warmed herself on it for it emboldened her.

Here. It should be here. Now- before night gave way to a second dawn. She would stand and utter the words that would make heads turn and mouths fall open. The muscles of her legs twitched in readiness but the moments passed and inertia rooted her to the seat. The words swelled in her mouth but refused to fall. The clan's contentment pressed warm on her, and she found herself loathe to disturb the peace.

Had it truly only been one day since the return home? Ineseu thought of the young female of that morning: restless without good reason, petulant at being faulted, and scarcely recognized her. Be'hsira was receptive to Gare'nu's attentions, and Ineseu studied him at leisure. Blood stained those hands she knew, yet she could read no weakness in those features; no hint of hidden flaw nor even a recent anguish. Obstinately she had pushed aside blame of her old Guardian and teacher. She _knew_ him! Perhaps better than he himself realized. Yet she debated uneasily to what lengths his loyalty would extend...

"That damned trophy," Ineseu muttered below her breath, and swiped at Yaowin for good measure. For reasons she could not have explained she was reluctant to speak her suspicions. Even to Va'te-vir, who was as unflappable as the hills and could be trusted with any secret. H'sai-di was out of the question and besides, she had not yet had a chance to find her alone.

Ineseu was no closer to insight when H'sai-di finally appeared and seated herself at Be'hsira's side. She graciously accepted a covered dish from a fawning Gare'nu.

El'cte sat at Be'hsira's elbow. Slighter in build than the robust Leader, the Warrior's narrow frame was accentuated by the long locks that trailed onto the table as he leaned in for a bite. Contrary to H'sai-di's gloomy hinting he looked in good humor. He leaned back, wiping the corner of his mouth with a folded cloth and summoned a brief smile at a table-mate's aside.

Most of the dishes being served were desserts; sweetmates or heavier foods divided and presented on small platters. The display of eating was for the most part good manners. Ineseu drank fully but let dishes pass before her, untouched. Those digging in were the ones who had not eaten during the day. When everyone was more or less settled in, Be'hsira pushed his chair back. The hall fell silent and Ineseu straightened, skin on her neck prickling. It was not unusual for a burning to be marked with a speech: recapping losses or victories perhaps, or naming the course for revenge, but this night she was on painful edge.

Be'hsira wasted no time getting to the point. "We have a new trail on the Uketee- an encampment in the west. Tomorrow we group and fly. They have gone unscathed too long." He ticked away points on his fingers. "Ninety will leave as the sun falls. Thirty-five to follow in a quarter as reinforcement. Anyone not chosen these last three battles have priority. The rest will be selected at the discretion of their commanders. It is decided. I will lead the first party myself." He turned to El'cte. "Do you lead the other my friend?"

El'cte inclined his head. "As you wish." Respect rang in his voice as he looked up at the Leader he had reared.

Howls of excitement had erupted around the Great Hall at Be'hsira's words. The hunger for fresh war was real and this would be the largest war party in recent memory. Ineseu was not immune; her blood clamored with theirs. Amidst the cries, while all were caught up in celebration, Be'hsira withdrew. Many who sat the council followed; they would have no sleep in the planning and selection of the most advantageous routes. Ineseu glared on the merriment, furious with herself. Da'tkre could not coax her into conversation and pointed teasing from Yaowin dragged her further into gloom. Finally she stood from the table. It was too soon to steal back to the pyres. They would be attended still by the worshiping clergy, their voices dwindled by now into scratched shrieks. Only when the sun was high and the ashes stone cold, would they be scraped together and laid out in the crypts.

The lift was already occupied. The harsh panting of the male of the couple filled the box; the smell of drink filtered on the breaths of both. The lift stopped on the sixth level, below her own, and Ineseu waited sourly for the realization. The female peeled herself from the wall and staggered out, her partner's hands firm on her arms. They were drunk on life, _c'ntlip_ and each other and collapsed just outside the lift. As it lurched upwards Ineseu heard their muffled laughter.

The doors opened onto a silent corridor. Even before she set foot from the compartment her senses were signaling a silent alert. She stopped, and walked on. She turned the last corner- and there was Be'hsira.

She should be surprised, Ineseu thought. Yet the appearance of the Leader at her very door suddenly seemed the most natural thing of all. It was almost welcome. Inside, she began to grin, though it was a grin as grim as the expression set on Be'hsira's face. An answer. At last.

Be'hsira broke the silence with a snarl, "Come with me" and she understood indeed there would be no pretense. He strode past, holding the lift open with one arm and a glare. Ineseu looked up the corridor then down; they were in plain view of the rooms whose every last door was shut. The Great Hall had been packed. Anyone remaining on the living levels must be preoccupied with mating- celebrating life and war in their own way.

She got in. The lift descended into the lower levels, past even the _ke'hda_ to the ground level and maze of storerooms beneath the Temple. Of course. Be'hsira would wish any exchange to take place from public sight and hearing. Ineseu weighed the risk once more, understood it, and after momentary reflection shrugged it away for a final time. If the Leader intended harm, he would not find it easy. He could not yet know that she had confided in no one, though she wondered what had prompted his suspicion. It was not for her safety she feared anyway. She could not bear it- this knowing that was poison.

The silence deepened as they went. There was only the soft whir of the lift, and power humming through the conduits. The doors opened onto a level Ineseu recognized at once, though she had only heard it described before. The corridor was a dead end, and there was a door, massive and round where others were not, that opened with Be'hsira's cerebral print.

Setting foot in the Leader's private workshop was rarity enough to cause Ineseu's guard to fall. Behind Be'hsira's back she gaped. It was cavernous, the only room on that level; to one used to small indoor spaces the difference was striking. Yet the vastness was marred by a chaos of objects. Wherever she looked something seized her attention. The eye could not find a place to settle. The surface of the table closest was littered with scraps and remnants of projects; globs of molten metal, wire clippings, raw and polished stones, small tools with lanyards for a belt, and to this Be'hsira went. They were alone. There was no window but the vent of an ancient round-bellied forge snaked along one wall to disappear into the ceiling.

Be'hsira turned to face her and the spell was broken. She regarded him warily. "You were there," he said. His eyes glittered like the jewels scattered so carelessly on the table.

It wasn't a question but Ineseu nodded. "I was."

Be'hsira sighed heavily. "I thought I heard something. Careless, and I knew better..." He seemed to be talking to himself then he snapped: "It's impolite to listen where you don't belong. What were you doing there? Did you follow me?"

Ineseu blinked. Be'hsira was angry but it was not the dark rage she had expected. Even now he spoke with the sureness of authority and she bristled. The arrogance!

"I went to the sacred place to reflect. I admit my trespass. I was startled when you came. I hid my presence so as not to intrude." She said this stiffly and was gratified when Be'hsira cocked his head.

"Oh? You have the right answers and quick enough with it, yet you don't sound sorry at all. Why is that?"

"I don't know," Ineseu snarled, irritated. What game was Be'hsira playing?

Be'hsira growled. "I think you do. Perfectly. I am not a fool. Spare yourself much grief and answer." As he spoke he had come closer and she drew back. If Be'hsira noticed he gave no sign. "How much did you hear?"

Ineseu remembered the trophy, undersized and pitiful in the palm of her hand.

"_Dishonor_..." She spat the word like a curse.

Be'hsira nodded. "Yes," he said grimly. "I'm afraid so."

All doubt was vanished. She regarded him with deepening repulsion- and a grudging trace of admiration. For one fallen from the highest rung of society he was preternaturally composed, his face a mask of intelligent regard.

She growled. "How did you know? We do not keep eyes over the dead- the sacred place."

"We don't," Be'hsira informed her. "But-" his hand found a panel in the table's leaf and an image sprang to life between them. The clip was just a few seconds long but the grainy night-vision was revealing. Her face filled the view, a stalk of dried crop brushed the lens as she passed the edge of the field.

"Eyes mounted outside took this footage before I arrived. You were the only one to pass within the hour I did." He paused. "Still I would not have sought it had I not been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. I made sure to return as soon as was permitted. And found this."

He tossed a familiar bundle onto the table. Despite herself her eyes flicked to it.

"The holy ones concern themselves with little beyond their rituals. As it is I barely managed to secret this before one trod on it." Be'hsira's eyes narrowed. "You came very close to creating a dilemma for me."

Ineseu listened with barely repressed rage. Her musk was rising, the oil secreted in profound aggression. Be'hsira would soon be able to scent it as well. How easily he had related this after all, as if the crime was of little significance. She examined him and could find no inhibition in the telling, no fear of justice. Her control broke.

"Why?" she ground out. "You, who are sworn to honor above all others. Why Kill this way?"

The mask slipped finally; surprise flickered in Be'hsira's eyes. "Kill? What in Paya's name are you talking about?

Ineseu ploughed on stubbornly: "The pup whose life was taken. Do you deny it?"

Be'hsira looked then as nauseated as she had felt. His mandibles flared out. "A pup? You believed I would-" He checked himself. "To suggest this to my face...you are either brave or a fool. But no, I have shed the blood of no pup. By Cetanu's spear, I swear it."

Ineseu believed him. Paya's wrath would have opened the heavens themselves for such a bold lie. She was awash with relief—and in the same instant wholly puzzled. A new realization niggled in her mind. For all his oath, Be'hsira had revealed very little.

"Is this not good enough for you?" Be'hsira asked coldly when she did not speak. "The matter is done. It did not concern you then, it does not concern you now. I have sworn to my innocence. Are you satisfied or do you intend to bring this before the council?"

Much hung on her answer, Ineseu sensed. The Leader was being exceedingly generous. He was right- her query had been an accusation. Few would have overlooked the offense. And she had trespassed. But then so had he. Was this the reason he had not spoken of punishment thus far?

Ineseu said slowly, "I am satisfied. I do not understand- not any of it, but it is not my right to question a private matter, if this is what this be. Saliyas and Le'kdi are your Warriors, yours to command." In a low voice she added, "I fear what I would learn besides."

To her great surprise Be'hsira flinched, his forbidding expression fading in an instant. Had it been the mention of the dead Warrior that wrought the change? He even took a step back, shaking his head.

"What a mess I made," he muttered. "And after all this time, another thread in the web."

Abashed, Ineseu barely heard the cryptic comment. "What now?"

Be'hsira rubbed his chin and was quiet. He stared and she tilted her head. Really, the resemblance to Ta'kewe was uncanny. Perhaps Be'hsira was regretting the familiarity into which they had lapsed; for some time now they had been speaking as equals. Perhaps he was, after all, deciding the manner of her punishment.

"Now?" Be'hsira said at last. "Now you listen. One more time. You were partly right. There _was_ a pup- a youngling rather. But if he is dead I don't know who killed him."

**X**

**A/N**: _I hate these long gaps between chapters. But their creation are difficult and I discard or redo much of what I write. I'm perpetually in draft. I appreciate the reads and/or reviews, including those that say: 'read it, not bad' or 'read it- but what's up with that?" Seriousness._

_I still swear I'm going somewhere with all this. Once I've safely deposited the yautja into the story's hotspot (just a couple more chapters I hope) my plan is to zip back to Earth and see how her human is doing. _

_It should be clear by now that Ineseu is not perfect. She's young, a bit rebellious -and naïve imho- and my intention is to allow her some maturation. In writing her this way I'm drawing inspiration from the AvP novels which show that for all their code of honor, yautja are not spit and shine. Dachande's students bestowed his nickname tongue in cheek. He noted the males' derogatory slang in a similar way. They drink, swear, cheat (damn you Shorty) And then there was Tichinde...poor thing. One can buck the ranks. Clearly the trick is in not going too far!_


End file.
